


A Pathway Yet Unknown

by SPowell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Spanking, closeted/Harry, drugging of drink, dub-con, fantasies, in denial/Harry, sex therapy, talk of mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:31:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3088118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPowell/pseuds/SPowell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry thinks everything is fine in his marriage to Ginny, but little by little he begins to see that it isn't. Draco Malfoy is more appealing every time Harry runs into him, which is a lot; and no matter what Harry does to try to please his wife, it isn't enough.</p><p>Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pathway Yet Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story about Harry trying to save his marriage while discovering something about himself. It has quite a bit of het sex in it. Just so you know.
> 
> Special thanks to iwao for the beta. <3

Ginny squeezes Harry’s head between her pale thighs, breath coming in short pants. She moans, her legs falling open again as Harry licks downward, tongue moving inside her.

He doesn’t particularly enjoy this, but Ginny does, and he knows if he brings her to a rocking completion, she’ll be relaxed and compliant and let him do what he wants.

“Harry!” Ginny arches off the bed, fingers curling in his hair. She’s covered in a sheen of sweat, her small breasts peaked and trembling. Harry recalls a conversation he once had with Ron after too many beers where Ron said he loved to watch Hermione’s breasts jiggle while he licked her. He also said he loved the taste of her, but Harry really, really doesn’t like the taste, and he can only think about how much his mouth aches and how long it’s taking Ginny to finish.

Ginny moans, her stomach tensing. She’s close, and Harry doubles his efforts. The sudden surge of her juices gags him. He doesn’t swallow, but covertly spits them from his mouth as he moves to take the small bundle of nerves between his teeth and gently bites down.

“Harry! Oh, _Merlin_ …” Ginny’s body convulses, her heat smashing into his face as her legs trap his head again.

Harry breathes evenly, waiting for her to calm and loosen her hold. When she does, he wipes his face on the sheet and moves upward on the bed, turning her to her side and sliding in behind her.

Ginny takes long, slow breaths, sweat drying on her skin as Harry whispers a lubrication charm and pulls her leg up over his hip.

She doesn’t protest when his cock head nudges her anus, only grips at the sheets with a small moan.

The heat is tight, slick, and overwhelming. Harry carefully slides in, mindful of Ginny’s grunts of discomfort as he does so.

“Oh-oh, hurry,” Ginny cries out, and Harry cants his hips upward. He never gets completely in, because Ginny can’t take all of him, but this time he reaches mid-way before she starts to tremble and make small squeaking noises. Reaching between her legs, he rubs her there, and she stills, breathing quietly as he shallowly fucks her.

When he comes, she rolls away from him, getting up from the bed and walking into the bathroom. Harry watches the door shut before his eyes grow heavy-lidded and he drifts off to sleep.

***

When Harry was twelve, he found a magazine hidden underneath Dudley’s mattress. He’d been making Dudley’s bed, and after a quick look down the hall to make sure no one was upstairs, he sat down to look at the magazine. It contained pictures of nude men, and Harry had been fascinated. He’d felt himself growing hard and couldn’t help but touch himself while he looked. One photo of a man sucking another man off, their clothes in disarray as they stood in an office, became Harry’s favourite. He was able to wank to it in record time.

The day he found the magazine gone, Harry was more disappointed than he thought he should have been.

***

When Harry has his cock in Ginny’s arse, visions of those pictures pop into his head, and he always comes hard in a way that he can’t when he’s buried in Ginny’s cunt. He tries not to think about what that might say about him.

He loves Ginny. She’s kind and sweet and she makes him feel needed. The war is over, and Harry can rest. Everything is okay.

The morning sun shines through the windows of the small kitchen, and Harry smiles at Ginny as he takes a cup from the cabinet and pours himself some tea. She seems to be over whatever annoyance she felt after last night and chats about her grocery list and the party that her friend from work is having that weekend.

“You want to go, don’t you?” she asks Harry.

“Sure.” Harry doesn’t really like parties, but Ginny does, and he wants to please her. He feels he owes her that. He reads the paper and eats some toast, listening with half an ear as Ginny lets the dog out and takes a Floo Call from Hermione.

His day at the ministry goes slowly and tediously. Harry sometimes wonders why he took the position in the first place. He doesn’t enjoy it. But then he remembers Ginny’s excitement over the salary and the benefits, and how Ron’s eyes lit up at the fact that they’d be seeing one another every day, and the look of pride in Hermione’s soft brown eyes, and he knows exactly why he’s there.

When he arrives home, Ginny has a wonderful meal waiting, even though she’s worked a full day herself. She kisses him, her lips soft, and it reminds Harry that he’s loved. He looks around his little home with pride as they take their seats at the table.

“Millicent said to wear dress robes to the party this weekend,” Ginny says over wine. “I’ll have yours cleaned.”

Harry nods. He tells her about seeing their old school mate Lavender Brown. “She came to sign some papers in an office down the hall from mine. She looked well. She said she’s married and has two children.”

Harry wants children; he has wanted them since the moment he and Ginny married two years earlier. Filling their home with children and laughter seems like the most important thing to Harry, but Ginny says it isn’t the right time.

When dinner is over, he cleans the kitchen while Ginny goes to take a long bath, as is their custom.

Later, in bed, Ginny snuggles up to Harry, her hand sliding beneath the waist band of his pyjama pants to stroke him. He closes his eyes and gasps as her fingers move lower to fondle his balls. A moment later, and he feels Ginny’s soft breast against his cheek. He knows she wants him to suck it, so he does, taking the peaked nipple between his lips and rolling it, his tongue moving against the tip. Ginny moans, her hand squeezing Harry’s cock. She presses her lips to Harry’s, kissing him—not the soft kisses he enjoys so much, but an insistent, demanding kiss. He kisses her back, knowing that’s what she wants and expects. She moans into his mouth and he contents himself with stroking her long hair, relaxed and content, enjoying the feel of the soft strands between his fingers. Ginny thrusts her tongue into his mouth, and Harry obediently meets it with his own, languidly stroking.

“H-harry,” Ginny pants, pulling back and staring at him. He smiles at her encouragingly.

She shimmies the rest of the way out of her gown and straddles him, pushing the covers to the bottom of their big bed. Her pale skin shimmers in the dark, and Harry prays he can maintain his erection as she sinks down on him. Closing his eyes, he brings a picture to his mind---a wizard on his knees, mouth wrapped around a big cock, eyes closed in pleasure. Harry’s cock twitches as Ginny slides up and down on it, her small hands pressed against Harry’s chest.

It’s no use—he can feel his erection failing. Ginny lets out a disappointed groan as she slips off him; and upset at not being able to fulfill her needs, Harry rises up and turns her around onto her knees.

“No, Harry…I don’t want---“

“Shh, let’s just do it this way.” He finds that the sight of her upturned buttocks is enough to excite him and slips into her cunt from behind. He begins to pump, encouraged by Ginny’s increasingly frantic cries and the way she rises to grip the headboard. When she shudders violently with release, he rubs a hand down her smooth back before pulling out, half-hard and without coming.

“Harry,” Ginny says when she notices, “why didn’t you…”

“I just didn’t.” He shrugs. “But it was good.” He settles down in the bed.

Ginny pulls her hair out of the way and takes him in her mouth, running her tongue over his flagging erection.

“Ginny, don’t.” Harry pulls her off of him. “Really; it’s all right. I don’t have to come every time.”

She sighs and wiggles down under the covers. He thinks she’s glad she doesn’t have to suck him, as she doesn’t seem to enjoy it very much.

“You weren’t very into it,” Ginny says after a few moments. “You never are.”

Harry frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Just…when we kiss. You don’t get very excited.”

“What are you talking about? I thought it was good for you.”

“It was!” Ginny sits up, the covers falling down to reveal her breasts. She bites her bottom lip uncertainly. “It’s just that I always seem to initiate sex between us, and you aren’t very…”

“Very what?’ Harry pushes, getting angry in spite of himself.

“Very… passionate.”

Harry climbs out of bed. “That’s ridiculous.” How could she say that? Why is she complaining? He gave her pleasure…they have this comfortable life. Why isn’t she happy?

“Where are you going?”

“Into the living room to read for a while.” He takes his book and makes his way to the door.

“Harry, come back.”

But Harry’s already halfway down the hall.

***

“Women,” Harry says to Blaise over a beer. It’s the middle of the work week, and Harry felt like drinking rather than going straight home for dinner.

“Can’t live with ‘em…and can’t live without ‘em,” Blaise lifts his glass in a toast.

Harry looks at Blaise curiously. “How are things with Fiona?”

“Pretty good, I must say. I might put a ring on that finger before the year’s out—join the ranks of the happily married.”

Harry toys with his napkin. “Is everything good…in bed?”

Blaise has had a few beers, and he doesn’t blink an eye at the question. “Brilliant! Fiona can really suck cock. What about the Mrs.? She any good at it?”

Harry nods his head because he doesn’t want to say otherwise.

The door opens and someone enters that Harry hasn’t seen in so long, he has to blink several times to make sure his eyes aren’t fooling him.

“Is that…”

Blaise turns his head. “Well, what do you know? Draco! Draco, over here!”

And then Draco Malfoy stands before them, looking older and not as sullen as he used to, and very handsome.

“Blaise, how’s it going?” Malfoy shakes Blaise’s hand before turning to Harry. “And Harry Potter. It’s been a long time.”

Harry stares for a moment before realizing that Draco’s holding out his hand to shake. Harry shakes it, an inexplicable shiver running down his spine at the touch.

“How have you been, Malfoy?”

“Please, call me Draco. We aren’t children anymore.”

Harry nods.

“I’ve been traveling quite a bit and doing quite well, thank you. Yourself?”

“I work at the ministry,” Harry says.

“And he’s married to Ginny Weasley,” Blaise puts in.

“Not unexpected,” Draco says. “Well, if you’ll excuse me—“

“Won’t you join us?” Blaise asks.

“I’m afraid I can’t. I have a date.” Draco smiles before making his way across the room. Harry looks over his shoulder in time to see Draco sitting down at a corner table opposite a good-looking man with dark, wavy hair. The man takes Draco’s hand and squeezes it.

“I didn’t know Malfoy was gay,” Harry says to Blaise. Against his will, he turns and looks again.

“Oh, yes. I knew it even back in Hogwarts.” Blaise finishes off his beer and glances at his watch. “I’d better get home. Fiona’s coming round in an hour.”

Harry stands up. “Me, too.” He decides to walk home, and as he does, he can’t get the vision of Draco in those Muggle clothes that hugged his body, his hair falling into those intense grey eyes, out of his mind.

Ginny’s miffed when Harry walks in. She stands in the foyer, hands on hips.

“Harry, dinner is cold!”

Harry grabs her wrist and pulls her to him, kissing her with more fervour than he’s felt in a long time. He feels Ginny gasp against his mouth before wrapping her arms around his neck, body straining towards his. He isn’t sure what’s come over him; he only knows there’s a hunger in him he needs to quench.

He makes short work of getting her top off, his mouth pushing her lace bra aside and latching onto a rosy nipple. Ginny throws her head back, breath stuttering in her throat. Harry’s hands move up under Ginny’s skirt, ripping at her knickers.

“Harry---oh! Yes!”

Harry’s fingers seek Ginny’s heat as he kisses down her neck. He lifts her up and carries her to the couch, depositing her there before getting to his knees and pulling her forward. Staring down at her ginger-covered snatch glistening with desire for him, he dips his head and licks into the folds.

“Fuck, Harry!” Ginny keens in her throat as Harry devours her with his mouth, inserting two fingers into her cunt and his pinkie into her anus. She looks ravaged, her bra hanging to the side with one breast out, and her skirt hiked up around her waist, her knickers a useless strip of lace there.

Harry eats her out like a starving man, her wails of pleasure ringing in his ears. He still doesn’t like the taste, but he’s hard as fuck—has been since he left the bar—and he knows this is the way to his pleasure.

When Ginny is a sobbing, gasping mess, her legs weak from her release, Harry flips her over and unzips his trousers.

He spreads the cheeks of Ginny’s arse and mutters a spell, watching as a clear oily substance leaks from Ginny’s hole and trickles down her thigh. Ginny lays compliant beneath him, cheek pressed to the couch and eyes glazed from her recent orgasm. Harry presses forward, and Ginny sucks in a breath. He prompts her to lift her buttocks higher, and she does, grunting and clutching the sofa as he pushes farther in. There’s no way Harry can stop—he’s going to bottom out this time.

“H-Harry!” Ginny gasps, wiggling beneath him when he keeps moving into her, the sight of his cock sinking into that tight hole all the way to his balls making his mouth go dry. When he’s got her completely impaled, Harry reaches around and strokes her breasts, teasing her nipples as he begins to thrust in earnest. Many a time Ginny’s bemoaned the fact that she has very small breasts, but Harry likes them. They’re almost flat, with nipples that stick out.

“Unn…unn…unnn…” Ginny’s noises push Harry onward. Her arse is so fucking tight, and Harry can’t help it—he’s thinking of Malfoy and his smirking mouth and that smooth walk. Tugging mercilessly at tightened nipples, Harry fucks his wife’s arse until he pours into her with a shout.

Gasping for air, Harry buries his face in Ginny’s hair, tingles of pleasure running up the back of his neck and over his scalp. After a moment, she pushes at him, and he withdraws.

As Ginny puts her clothing to rights, she glares at Harry accusingly. “That would have been better if you’d done it the right way,” she says.

Harry turns to sit on the couch, weightless with spent pleasure, his trousers and pants pooled around his ankles.

Ginny pulls her shirt on over her head. “You know, if you really want a child, you’ll have to fuck me properly.”

Harry bends to pull up his pants. What did she say? Oh.

“I know that, of course. But you said you weren’t ready.”

Ginny deflates a little. “I do use contraceptive charms, you know. It’s not as though---oh, never mind. Come eat dinner. I’ll warm it up.”

On Saturday night, as they get dressed for Millicent’s party, Ginny looks at her reflection in the full-length mirror of their bedroom. She wears a turquoise dress that plunges at the neckline and at the back, showing the curve above her arse.

“How do I look?” Ginny asks.

“Simply beautiful,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before adjusting his dress robes.

“I know this isn’t the kind of thing you enjoy, Harry,” Ginny says, reaching up to smooth Harry’s hair. “But you’re expected to be seen at events every so often. You are the Boy Who Lived, after all.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’m no longer a boy, and I don’t want to be gawked at.”

Ginny only smiles and kisses him.

They Apparate together, and Harry looks about the crowded ballroom decorated with hundreds of faery lights, already feeling a bit out of place. Ginny claps her hands in excitement.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” Ginny says.

Immediately, a wizard and witch approach them.

“Harry and Ginny Potter, how lovely to see you!”

Harry thinks they look familiar, but he can’t recall who they are. The bloke doesn’t work at the ministry; that much Harry knows.

“Harry, you remember Goswald Piles and his wife Zelda. They own The Flying Broom.”

“Ah, yes,” Harry smiles automatically and shakes their hands. He’s bought a broom or two at their establishment as he still plays Quidditch every so often with some friends.

“Mister Potter, I would love for you to represent our company,” Goswald says.

“I don’t do advertisements,” Harry replies, looking distractedly about the ball room.

“But perhaps you will consider…”

“Come, Ginny, let’s dance. Lovely to see you,” Harry says over his shoulder to the Piles as he leads Ginny out onto the floor.

“That was rude,” Ginny says, lips thinning out.

“I don’t want to be needled about making endorsements.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to do one every once in a while.”

“Sometimes I think you’re afraid people will forget about me,” Harry says.

Ginny shakes her head. “People are unlikely to ever forget about you, Harry.” Her hand moves to stroke his neck.

“I wish they would.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

Things have been a bit strained between them since Harry’s enthusiastic attack on the couch. He doesn’t know why Ginny has to be so difficult. He’d been passionate and eager like she wanted, but that wasn’t good enough for her. She’d been irritable for days until the time to go to this party had drawn near.

She’s smiling, squeezing his hand as he dances her across the ballroom floor, and Harry really doesn’t want to fight. When the music stops, they get some champagne and talk to a few friends. Harry does a lot of smiling and nodding, and the first chance he gets, he leads Ginny back out on the floor for another dance.

Mid-way through the song, there’s a tap to his shoulder, and Harry turns to see Dean Thomas.

“Do you mind if I cut in?”

Harry acquiesces with a nod, and Ginny gives Dean a grin as they begin to dance.

Not particularly wanting to dance with anyone else, as it would mean making inane conversation, Harry heads for the hallway and the Gentlemen’s Room. As he passes a dark corridor, he catches sight of a couple locked in an embrace, and Harry stops at the glimpse of white-blond hair.

The two men snog enthusiastically, and Harry finds himself staring, his cock getting hard in the tight confines of his trousers. The more he watches, the harder he gets. When hands reach around Malfoy to grip a perfect arse, Harry hurries into the restroom and locks himself in a stall, unable to slow down until he has his cock in his hand and is stroking himself to completion. Gasping, he leans against the wall, wondering what the hell came over him.

With a shaky breath, he zips himself back up and goes to wash his hands.

The door opens.

“Harry,” Malfoy says.

Harry nods. “Malfoy.” His voice is hoarse and he can’t seem to look Malfoy in the face.

“Draco.”

“Right. Draco. Enjoying the party?”

Draco checks his face in the mirror before flicking his wand and removing a love bite from his neck. “It’s a bit dull, actually. I’ll probably leave soon.”

Harry wonders what happened to the man Draco was snogging.

“Here with the wife?” Draco asks.

“Yes.” Harry dries his hands. He can’t help but check out Draco’s arse when Draco turns to use a urinal. It’s a very fine arse. Sweat breaks out on Harry’s forehead, and he moves toward the door.

“See you, er—Draco.” Harry leaves and walks back to the ballroom where he pours a drink at the bar. Looking out over the dance floor, he spots Ginny still dancing with Dean, their faces close together, Dean’s hand resting just above the swell of Ginny’s arse.

“Going to do something about that?” Draco says from beside Harry.

“I thought you left.” Harry’s eyes run over Draco’s lithe form leaning against the bar. “Do something about what?”

Draco jerks his head toward the dance floor. “Dean Thomas seems a bit too comfortable with your wife, don’t you think? Aren’t you jealous?”

Harry shrugs. “They’re only dancing.”

“If you say so,” Draco sips some champagne.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asks.

“Well, if you don’t know, I’m certainly not going to tell you.”

Irritation raises the hair at Harry’s nape.

“Why don’t you just say what you mean, if you want to say something? ”

Draco raises a brow. “All right. I think Thomas looks as though he wants to shag your wife, and your wife looks as though she wouldn’t mind it.”

Harry barks out a laugh. “Ginny wouldn’t cheat on me.”

“Sure.” Draco continues drinking. He looks Harry up and down. “You’re kidding yourself.”

“Shut up. I know my own wife.”

“I didn’t mean about that, although that, too. I know the signs, Harry. You’re lying to yourself.”

Draco puts his glass down on the table and straightens his jacket. He isn’t wearing dress robes, but rather a Muggle tuxedo that looks brilliant on him. “Take it from me; I’ve been there.”

“Been where, and since when do you dress Muggle?” Harry asks, frowning.

“Since I lived in Muggle London for two years,” Draco says. “Does it bother you?”

“Why should it?”

Draco shrugs. Harry finds himself staring at the line of Draco’s jaw.

“Like what you see?” Draco smirks.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry turns to look back over the dance floor. Hot breath blows into his ear, making him shudder.

“When you figure out what you want, let me know.” Then he walks away, and Harry’s admiring that arse again.

Fucking Draco Malfoy. Harry doesn’t know what the git was going on about.

After watching one more dance, Harry walks across the floor through the crowd and cuts back in. Dean kisses Ginny’s hand before walking away.

“Did you have a nice time?” Harry asks, looking at Ginny’s flushed face.

“Yes, very.”

“Good. I want you to have a good time.”

“Dean’s quite the dancer.”

“Hm.” Harry’s mind wanders.

“You’re not having fun?” Ginny’s hazel-brown eyes are intense.

“Good enough.”

“You should chat with people.”

“I have been.” One person.

The night seems to go on interminably until Harry feels it’s late enough to suggest they leave.

At home in their bedroom, Harry unzips Ginny’s dress and lets it fall to the floor. Wearing only a red lace thong, she turns to look at him. Reaching out, she palms Harry’s crotch, sidling up to whisper in his ear. It doesn’t feel the same as when Draco Malfoy whispered to him earlier, and the fact that Harry notices bothers him.

“Dean propositioned me tonight.” When Harry re-focuses, Ginny’s looking at him as though she’s waiting for something.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, hands coming up to lightly grip her upper arms, her skin soft beneath his fingers.

“Dean wanted to fuck me,” Ginny says. Harry raises a brow. So Malfoy was right. But Harry was right, too.

“I told him no. That I’m married to you.”

Harry smiles and gently tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear. Ginny looks at him with unfathomable eyes before sinking to her knees and unzipping his trousers.

“What are you doing?” Harry gazes down at her. She rolls her eyes before taking his cock out and opening her mouth.

The wet heat feels so good, and Harry moans, hands going to grip her hair. The silky strands between his fingers could so easily be blond rather than red. Closing his eyes, he pictures Draco Malfoy on his knees, mouth hot on Harry’s cock. He tugs at the hair, making Ginny take him in deeper. She gags, throat muscles brushing against his cock head. A shock of white-hot desire runs through Harry, and he grips Ginny’s head harder, fucking her mouth until he comes.

Ginny pushes him away, spluttering and wiping her lips. “Harry, what the fuck?”

Harry opens his eyes, watching as his wife staggers to her feet.

“What?”

“You know I don’t like to swallow! And you didn’t have to try to choke me with your cock.”

“Sorry,” Harry says. “I just…got carried away. That was great, love.”

Slightly appeased, Ginny wipes her mouth again and gives a small smile.

“Come here,” Harry says, pulling her to him. Positioning them in front of the mirror, Ginny’s back to his front, Harry sprinkles kisses along Ginny’s neck while fondling her breasts—fingers plucking at her pointed nipples, her eyes bright as she watches in the mirror. So what if he has to think up wild fantasies in order to get off? He knows how to please her, and would never leave her wanting for pleasure.

Harry concentrates on nipping and sucking Ginny’s neck. The feel of her bum grinding back on him makes him wish that just once, she’d let him push her to the bed and really bugger her good. His body yearns for it, but Ginny doesn’t like it—says it does nothing for her, and that sometimes it hurts. After what happened on the couch, she’s told him she won’t let him do it again.

She arches her back, spreading her legs wide, and Harry slips his hand inside her thong, rubbing between her slick folds before finger-fucking her until she shatters, body sinking back against his.

In bed, Ginny lays her head on Harry’s chest.

“I’m sorry I made you jealous, Harry,” she says into the darkness, fingers playing with the hairs on his chest.

“That’s all right,” Harry says, kissing the top of her head. He wasn’t jealous, but she doesn’t need to know that.

***

Harry finds that this is the way around his problem. Whenever he can, he brings Ginny to climax using his fingers, and then she doesn’t demand he put his cock in her so often. He misses the anal sex, but Ginny is adamant.

At first, he thinks he can live with it. But after a while, the stress of his job gets to him, and a good wank in the shower simply isn’t enough. His mood deteriorates.

After Harry grumbles through dinner one night, Ginny sighs and puts her fork down.

“Harry, what’s wrong?”

“Just…work,” Harry shrugs. He wishes she wouldn’t be so—so _demanding_ all the time. They can’t ever just have a quiet meal.

Ginny gets up and comes around the table, putting her hands on his shoulders and kneading them. “You’re so tense.”

Harry’s head lolls back. It feels good, but he wishes her hands were bigger—stronger. Or that she’d just leave him alone.

“You’re in knots, Harry! Hold on—I’ve got an idea.”

Ginny leaves the room, and Harry hears her making a Floo Call. Harry pokes desultorily at his food, thinking about all the paperwork he left on his desk and hoping that Ginny won’t expect him to fuck her tonight. It’s been a while since he tried, having gotten her off with mouth and fingers the last two times. She’s insatiable sometimes, but she won’t give him what he really wants and needs.

Ginny appears in the doorway, a large smile on her face.

“It’s all set. Come on, Harry.”

Harry stands up from the table. “Where am I going?”

“Luna’s husband is a masseur. He’s willing to take you right now—he owes me a favour from when I typed up his manuscript.”

“A masseur?” Harry asks as Ginny pushes him toward the Floo.

“Yes…you know, a good massage? You’ll love it.”

And Harry really does love it. He lies naked on a table for a good forty-five minutes, Bruno’s big, rough hands moving over Harry's body. It feels wonderful. When Bruno moves to massage Harry’s inner thighs and buttocks, Harry’s cock stiffens, and he has to hold back a moan of pleasure. By the time Bruno’s finished, Harry’s on fire.

The odd look Bruno shoots him when Harry gets off the table tells Harry that maybe this doesn’t happen often with his clients; but Harry just slips on his pants, careful with his huge erection, thanks Bruno, gathers up the rest of his clothes, and Floos home.

Ginny’s in bed, a book propped on her knees.

“How’d it go?” she asks.

“It felt wonderful,” Harry says, dumping his clothes on a chair and moving to lie on the bed beside her. “Thanks for the idea.” He places his glasses on the nightstand.

Ginny puts her book on the night table and turns out the light.

“I’m glad.” She settles down beside him. “Harry, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we could plan on starting a family.”

Heart beating faster in excitement, Harry looks at Ginny in the dim light. Without his glasses on, she's a bit blurry around the edges. “Really? That’s all I’ve ever wanted!” And it is. A family.

“Not that I want to right now,” Ginny hastens to say, “but soon. We’ll decide when, and then I’ll go off my contraceptive potions.” She leans in to kiss Harry. He pulls her in closer and nibbles on her ear.

“Oh!” Feeling Harry’s erection, which has barely dwindled since the massage, Ginny reaches down and runs her fingers over the fabric of his pants. His hands move to cup her arse underneath her nightgown. If she would just let him in there…but maybe, just maybe if he enters her cunt from behind, it will be almost the same.

Harry continues kissing her, rising up to remove her night dress before pushing his pants down and kicking them off the bed. Ginny wraps a leg around his waist, pressing her wet heat to him invitingly.

“Harry, oh Harry…”

But he wants to turn her around…it’s better that way. He nudges her in that direction, and she makes a protesting noise.

“Harry, I would like to _see you_ while we make love!”

“Just…just, like this.” When her arse is pressed to his groin, Harry groans. “I just…really love your arse, Ginny.”

“I know that, but---unh!”

Harry’s slipped into her, and it’s almost as good. Almost. He begins to thrust, thinking about his recent massage, fingers automatically moving to pleasure Ginny. She stops protesting, head lolling, and he fucks into her hard, seeking his release before he loses the ability.

He’s almost there, almost there…Ginny’s grunting low in her throat, and the sound drives him on.

Pleasure shoots from Harry's groin to his head, and he trembles. When he comes to himself, he’s lying atop Ginny, pressing her firmly into the mattress.

“That was great,” he says, pulling out and rolling over.

Ginny moves away, yanking the covers up to her chin.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. Why the hell is she frowning?

“I don’t like…I don’t like this, Harry.”

“What?” Harry asks. How can she be unhappy when he just came inside her cunt the way she always wants him to? What will it take to make her happy?

“I don’t like being manhandled…”

“Manhandled!”

“…to face away from you. We don’t kiss, you don’t look at me... it’s almost as if—“

“As if _what_?”

“As if you’re thinking of another woman!”

Harry laughs, which only makes Ginny angrier.

“That’s ridiculous, Ginny! Oh, come back here—for heaven’s sake!”

Ginny slams the bathroom door.

***

Two days later, Ginny hands Harry a piece of paper over breakfast. “I want you to go see this person.”

Harry looks at the name scrawled on the white parchment. “Why? Who is Wanda Slickstone?”

“She’s a sex therapist. We’ll see her separately at first, then together.”

“What? Ginny, our sex life is just fine!”

“How can you say that when you can’t maintain an erection long enough to make love to me the right way?”

Harry sees red. Standing, he snatches his cloak from the back of the chair. “I’m going to work.”

“Harry, if you care about us—“

But Harry Disapparates before she can say another word.

He’s still fuming over it at lunch, the piece of paper with the therapist’s name on it burning like a hot coal in his pocket. Why does Ginny think they need a sex therapist? Doesn’t he always try hard to please her? What’s the big deal about which position they use as long as they both get off?

It seems she’s never happy.

When a hand comes to rest on the table in front of Harry’s eyes, he looks up to find Draco Malfoy smiling down at him.

“You look as though you’re ready to explode something.”

Harry hadn’t realised he was clutching his wand so intensely. He loosens his grip, slipping it back into his sleeve.

“Draco,” he says carefully. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Draco’s smile widens. “Is it a pleasure?” His smile is flirtatious, and Harry blushes. Draco indicates the chair opposite. “May I?”

Harry gives a curt nod, and Draco settles himself, adjusting his robes about his long legs.

“I was eating with a friend when I saw you over here glowering. Problems?”

“No. I’m just not in a very good mood.” Harry sips his water.

“Ah. Well, I am in quite a good mood, so perhaps it will rub off on you.” Draco goes on to tell Harry about how just that morning he finished creating a potion he’d been working on for ages. “It was the reason I’ve traveled so much—gathering the ingredients, you know.”

“What’s the potion for?” Harry asks.

“It’s a fertility potion for wizards.”

“What? You mean for sterile wizards?”

Draco smirks, leaning back. “No, I mean to enable wizards to get pregnant.”

“But that’s not possible!” Is Draco having Harry on? Has he nothing better to do?

“Oh, I assure you, it is possible, Harry.”

His name still sounds odd on Draco’s lips, but nice too, the way it rolls off his tongue almost like a—Harry thinks “promise,” but that doesn't make sense.

“Hundreds of years ago, wizards were able to get pregnant," Draco tells Harry, leaning back in his chair and draping his arm over it. "Then something happened, and they weren’t any more. Haven’t you ever wondered why? I’ve been researching it for years—ever since I read about it back in Hogwarts.”

“I didn't know wizards ever could get pregnant--I was raised by Muggles, remember. But---why?”

Draco frowned. “Why, what? Why have I been researching it? Think. Many wizards in gay relationships would love to have a child of their own; surely you can understand that.”

Harry frowned. “I suppose so.”

Draco sighed. “Of course they do. And I, being gay, have a special interest in it. Oh, I admit that at first it had a lot to do with the fact that my father expected an heir out of me, and I balked at the thought of marrying a witch. But after Father’s death, I realised that I wanted a child for my own sake—that I might actually like to carry a child. That drove me on, and I finally made a breakthrough in Senegal. Did you know that the Peri plant was once a staple among wizards? And then a type of mammal brought over from Asia depleted it, and with it the magical properties that allowed wizards to conceive and carry a child—or so I hypothesized until just recently when I proved it to be true. I could tell you all about how, but by the look on your face, I’d say you aren’t interested.” Draco rests his chin on his hand and stares at Harry with mocking grey eyes.

“It’s not that I don’t find it interesting, it’s just---I have things on my mind. Congratulations on your potion, Draco. It’s sure to make you famous.”

Draco smiles, his eyes lighting up in a way that's quite captivating. “Yes, it very well might. And then you can say ‘I knew him when.'” Draco stands. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your scowling. Dolphus and I are heading over to The Wizard’s Wand.” He winks, and then leaves.

Harry stares after him, the wink doing something to his nether regions. Harry can’t help but admire Draco’s graceful manner as he slips his arms into the coat that the man who must be Dophus holds for him. Harry's stomach clenches as Draco wraps an arm around the other man’s waist and they walk out of the restaurant.

“The Wizard’s Wand…” Harry mutters. He’s heard of it, but he can’t quite remember in what context. On impulse, he throws some sickles and knuts on the table and rises to follow Draco and his companion.

***

The Wizard’s Wand turns out to be a club, and Harry realises he’s heard the name through Ron who, as an Auror, has made the occasional arrest there. There isn’t a witch in sight when Harry enters the dark interior approximately ten minutes after Draco and his companion, and he quickly sees why as he takes in the sight of wizards in various manners of scanty dress. He leaves his robes at a check-in window and wanders in, casting a Disillusionment Charm over himself so he can roam freely.

All around him, men sit, drink, snog, and touch one another inappropriately. He sees one man straddling another, gyrating to the music over the sound system. White fog pours periodically from the air vents, lending a mystical aura to the place. Harry walks toward the back, eyes lingering on couples. He spots Draco in the corner, Firewhiskey in his hand, talking to Dolphus. Dolphus has his hand on Draco’s arm, fingers sliding over it provocatively. Harry swallows, his throat suddenly dry. Draco leans in and kisses Dolphus, and Harry can plainly see their tongues touching.

Reaching down, Harry adjusts himself in his pants, his eyes glued to Draco and Dolphus. When Dolphus reaches inside Draco’s shirt, Harry suddenly can’t stand it anymore. Turning, he walks as quickly as he can out of the establishment, not pausing until he’s several yards down the street, breathing in the fresh air.

In his hurry, he didn’t even realise he had forgotten his robes.

***

“What brings you here, Mr. Potter?” Wanda Slickstone is a squat toad of a woman, and she stares unblinkingly at Harry over her orange spectacles.

“My wife wanted me to come,” Harry says. Realising the double entendre of his words, he bites his lip.

“Do you have any idea why?” Healer Slickstone leans back in her chair, her bright robes stretching over her ample bosom. Her short, stubby fingers are covered in gold rings.

“Er, because she says there’s something wrong with our sex life.”

“And is there?”

“I don’t think so.” Harry finds his eyes roaming the room. The walls are covered with explicit photos of couples in various sexual positions. It’s weird.

“So, there is absolutely nothing you’d change about it if you could?”

There is, but Harry won’t admit it. He continues looking at the photos.

“Do any of these pictures strike your fancy, Mr. Potter?”

“Um, can you call me Harry?”

“Certainly, Harry. Look around.”

Harry stands and wanders from picture to picture. When he comes to one of two men with a woman between them, he stops. He’s never seen anything like it. One man seems to have entered the woman from the front, the other from the back. The man behind her has his head thrown back in ecstasy, the one in front is kissing the woman and fondling her breasts.

“What do you see in that photo, Harry?”

Harry had forgotten for a moment that Healer Slickstone was there.

“I see…two men with a woman.”

“Doing what?”

“Um…” Harry clears his throat. “They’re making love.”

“Is that what they’re doing, Mr. Potter? Please say what you mean.”

Harry looks again at the photo. “They’re fucking her.” He colours.

“Yes,” Healer Slickstone nods.

Harry returns to the sofa where he’d been seated before.

“Do you know why you were drawn to that particular photo, Harry?”

“I’ve never seen anything like that before. Two men with a woman.”

“Is that something you would like to try in your relationship with your wife?”

“Erm, no. I don’t think so.” He shakes his head. Although for one quick moment he pictures Draco as the other man. Somehow he doesn’t think he wants Draco touching Ginny. Or Ginny Draco. He isn’t sure which makes him more uncomfortable, but he realises with sudden clarity that he wouldn’t have any problem with either touching _him_.

“So you find it titillating in a fantasy type way, but not something you’d realistically want to try.”

“Yes,” Harry nods, suddenly wishing he hadn’t come.

A quill busily writes on parchment hovering to the left of Healer Slickstone's shoulder.

“When you look at that picture, Harry, which of the two men would be you?”

“The one behind her,” Harry says without pause.

The Healer's face doesn't change, but the quill scribbles furiously.

“Describe your sex life with your wife, Harry. Or, if you’d rather, we could use the Pensieve. Some of my shyer clients prefer it.”

Harry thinks he’d rather talk about it than have the woman review his memories. Flushing, he says, “Usually…well, what is it exactly you want to know?” He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. He wishes he hadn’t come.

“Let’s start with the good things. What do you think is good about your sex life with your wife?”

Harry worries his lower lip with his teeth. “Well, we always make sure the other gets pleasure.”

Healer Slickstone nods. “Good, good. In what way do you give your wife pleasure, Harry?”

Harry clears his throat, his face heating. Healer Slickstone’s large, gray curls bounce as she continues nodding, urging him along.

“O-orally. And, um, with my hands, mostly.”

“And she you?”

“Uh…with her hand. Or orally sometimes, although she doesn’t care for it much.”

“Does that bother you? That she doesn’t particularly enjoy fellatio?”

“A little. I mean, it seems like a chore to her, and sometimes I wish she’d be a little…rougher.”

"Have you told her this?"

"No. I don't think she's approve."

“Do you enjoy the act of cunnilingus?”

“Not particularly, but I don’t show it. And I know she really likes it. I want to please her.”

“What about intercourse?” Healer Slickstone asks.

“What about it?”

“Do you have it?”

“Of course.”

“But you didn’t mention it as something you do to give pleasure. Is it not pleasurable?”

Harry shrugs, looking away. His eyes fasten on a small portrait on the woman’s desk. A young girl sits complacently in a chair, smiling at the camera before flicking a strand of her dark hair off her shoulder. She looks similarly amphibian to the Healer, and Harry guesses she must be related to Healer Slickstone.

“Harry, if I am to help you and your wife, I need you to be honest with me. Believe me, there’s nothing I’ve not heard before.”

“But we don’t need help! We’re fine as we are.”

“Evidently, your wife doesn’t think so.”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t see why she thinks there’s a problem. I do everything I can to please her.”

“You have no idea what she thinks is wrong?” Healer Slickstone asks, her jowls jiggling a little.

“She—she doesn’t like the position I prefer. One time she claimed I wasn’t passionate. She says I’m not ‘into it’ enough, whatever that means. She always wants me to kiss her harder, or look her in the eyes.” Harry frowns. ‘It’s unfair, really. I do everything I can to please her, and she still complains about it.”

“What is your favourite position, Harry?”

Harry is silent, but his eyes unconsciously move to the photo he’d been looking at on the wall.

Healer Slickstone follows his gaze. “Ah. You enjoy anal sex.”

“Yes,” Harry says softly. “It’s the only way I can maintain my erection. But Ginny doesn’t like it. She…she says it hurts, even though I try to be gentle and to prepare her.” Harry feels lighter at getting the confession out.

“Do you ever make love to your wife vaginally?”

“Yes, of course, but even then she complains.”

“Of what?”

“That I’m not looking her in the face—I prefer to turn her around. It’s just what works for me.”

“I see.”

“What do you see?” Harry can’t help but feel angry and defensive. These are his feelings they’re talking about, after all.

“Just that what turns you on is different from what turns on your wife, that’s all, Harry. We have to know what you have to work with. I have a homework assignment for you.”  
  
“Homework?” Harry looks at her incredulously.

“Yes,” Healer Slickstone smiles. “I want you to undress your wife in bed and caress her, face to face. Spend a long time doing this before going to your preferred position.”

Harry nods, unsure. “And you think this will help?”

“I do, but we shall see.” She scribbles on a card and passes it to Harry over the desk. “Have her come see me, and I’ve written your next appointment on there as well. Good day.”

***

Harry does his homework, and Ginny seems to appreciate it, although she sighs audibly when Harry turns her to her stomach afterward in order to enter her. The plaintive sound makes Harry want to slap Ginny on the buttocks, and the thought of doing so makes him hard enough to enter her easily. But Harry knows that if he spanked Ginny, it wouldn’t turn her on. She’d be indignant and possibly call him a deviant. Harry’s erection begins to wilt.

Ginny’s appointment with Healer Slickstone is at the end of the week, and when she returns home from it, she spends a long time between Harry’s knees, experimenting with fellatio. Harry can’t complain—she seems to have picked up a few tips from the therapist. But when he comes, Ginny pulls away so Harry’s spunk coats her cheeks and chin. Harry doesn’t think that’s such a bad thing, as Ginny doesn’t make a face at the mess as she usually does, and the sight of his spunk on her face excites him.

Harry has dinner with Ron on Saturday night while Ginny and Hermione see a Muggle movie.

“I hear you’re seeing a sex therapist,” Ron says, and Harry almost spits his wine out.

“What?”

“Oh, come on, mate. You know Ginny and Hermione talk, and I’m bound to hear about it sooner or later.”

Harry stares at him. “Do you really want to hear about your sister and your best friend in bed?”

Ron shakes his head, holding his hands up. “No, no way. I just was surprised, that’s all. You never said anything about it.”

“You think I’m going to tell you?” Harry asks. “Besides, there’s really no problem. We’re just working a few things out.”

“Good to know.”

Later that night, when Harry gets into bed beside Ginny and extinguishes the light, Ginny reaches for his hand.

“Thank you for going to the therapist, Harry. I should have said it before.”

“I want you to be happy, Ginny.”

She leans in and kisses him. “I want you to be happy, too, Harry. Healer Slickstone says I need to be very honest with you. I hope you won’t get angry.” She’s silent for a moment before continuing.

“I just—sometimes I want to feel like I’m the only thing you want, and that you want me so much you can’t breathe. I feel that way with you.”

Harry isn’t sure what to say to that. So much he can’t _breathe_? Isn’t that a little extreme?

“Hermione suggested that after the war, you just—I don’t know, needed to take things down a notch. Not get so worked up about things.”

As much as it bothers Harry that Ginny’s been talking to Hermione about their sex life, he can’t help but be grateful to his friend for this out. He isn’t sure if that’s why he feels the way he feels, but it sounds like as good a reason as any. He nods in the darkness.

“I do feel the need for peace.”

“And I get that, Harry. I do.” Ginny runs her fingers over his chest, moving them up under his T-shirt. He wishes she’d just let them go to sleep; he’s tired.

“Hermione and Ron sometimes spice things up a little.”

Harry stills. “Spice things up?” He thinks of spanking—turning Ginny over his knees and smacking her arse until she’s humping in his lap and begging him for it.

“Yeah, like…Hermione wears really sexy clothes, and they go out on the town. Sometimes Ron acts like he’s picking her up at a bar, and they go fuck in the alley way.” Ginny giggles. “I can’t believe my brother would do that.”

“I…don’t think that’s something I’d enjoy,” Harry says honestly. It’s difficult enough to get hard enough to fuck her at home, but in an alley way?

“Well, I probably wouldn’t either. But there might be something we’d both enjoy. Just think about it.”

***

Harry is surprised to run into Draco coming out of Sugarplum’s Sweet Shoppe.

“Harry, hello!” Draco smiles. His eyes run over Harry’s body . “You look good.”

Harry feels himself flushing. “Thanks. Um, buying sweets?”

“Just some chocolate frogs.” Draco holds up the bag. “I had a craving. Oh, and this.”

He holds up a long, pink ice lolly. Sticking it into his mouth, Draco takes a long suck, eyes never leaving Harry’s, and Harry’s pants immediately tighten in the front. It suddenly occurs to him that there’s an alley way just beside him, and the thought of hustling Draco in there and dropping to his knees seems very titillating.

“Delicious,” Draco says huskily. He offers the lolly to Harry. “Want a suck?”

For a moment, Harry imagines leaning in and taking the cold treat between his lips, eyes locking with Draco’s. He shakes his head and moves for the door.

“I’m picking up some Cauldron Cakes for Ginny. Her mother’s coming over tonight.”

“Ah. Well, have fun, then.” Draco walks off, and Harry’s eyes follow him as he goes, lingering on Draco’s arse in his tight trousers. Draco isn’t wear robes, and it suits him. A waft of Draco’s spicy cologne reaches Harry’s nostrils, and he breathes in greedily. With a sigh, Harry enters the shop, trying not to think about the fact that the idea of doing things in the alley with Draco is so much more appealing than with Harry’s wife.

Back at home, Molly Weasley is already there, bustling about the kitchen.

“You’re supposed to be the guest.” Harry kisses her on the cheek. “Why are you in here cooking?”

“I can’t help myself, dear! All my chicks have flown the nest, and Arthur’s out of town. I need to do for somebody.” She leans in conspiratorially. “Plus, I love my daughter, but I know she’s no great cook.”

“Oi, Mum, I heard that!” Ginny comes into the kitchen, laughing. “Hello, Harry.” She kisses him. She smells of vanilla, a sweet, cloying scent that makes Harry’s stomach queasy, and Harry notices that she’s changed out of her work clothes. When Molly shoos them out of the kitchen, Ginny pauses in the hallway to give Harry a longer kiss. As her tongue meets his, his mind goes to the kiss he witnessed between Draco and Dolphus at The Wizard’s Wand and Harry shudders, gripping Ginny’s slim hips with his fingers.

Ginny smiles against his mouth. “You like that, do you? How was your appointment today?” She reaches around and squeezes his buttocks. “Got any homework?”

Harry does, and he sort of dreads it. In fact, he draws out their time with Molly by keeping her in conversation until well after dark. Finally, she insists she must get home, and leaves after a flurry of kisses and promises to meet again soon.

Harry cleans up the kitchen, putting off going upstairs as long as he can. When he finally walks into the bedroom, Ginny’s already in bed reading. He takes a long shower.

When he finally crawls into bed, Ginny says, “Spit it out. What’s the homework? Is it something bad?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then what? I can tell you’re putting it off, Harry.”

“It’s just…potentially embarrassing.” He sighs. “She wants us to exchange fantasies.”

“Oh.” Ginny stares up at the ceiling. “Well. I can see where that could be uncomfortable.”

“She says to be very honest, but that we shouldn’t get too detailed. Only things we imagine would be really hot.”

“Hm.” Ginny’s obviously thinking. “Well, I’ve always had this fantasy about doing it out of doors. In a field of flowers with the sun shining down on our naked bodies.” She giggles.

That sounds incredibly boring to Harry.

“What about you, Harry?”

“I’m not sure.”

“There must be something.”

_Yes, but nothing he’s willing to admit._

Ginny yawns. “Harry, did Healer Slickstone ask you about the pictures on her wall? Which one did you pick?”

“I—“ Harry doesn’t want to tell the truth. He thinks about all the photos and tries to zero in on one. “Um, the one against the wall.”

Ginny nods, biting her lip. “I guess that would be exciting. We could try it if you like. I chose the one with the man sitting in the chair and the woman on top, facing him.”

Harry nods, completely uninterested in that scenario.

Ginny leans over to switch off the light before lying down beside Harry, body pressed to his. “Now tell me your fantasy. Don’t be shy.”

Harry thinks. What would he really like to do with Ginny? Just Ginny. He thinks back to when they first got involved and the fantasies he’d had about her then.

None come to mind.

He thinks about his recent fantasy about spanking her.

“Um…well, it’s a little naughty.”

“Naughty?” Ginny seems interested. “Harry, just the thought of you fantasizing about me gets me wet, so please just say it.”

Encouraged, Harry says, “Well, I’d like to…um, turn you over my knee and spank you.”

Silence. Harry waits, body tense.

“Well, you asked!” he finally blurts out angrily.

“Yeah, I just didn’t expect…”

“You can’t make me tell you something, and then act like it’s weird!” Harry rolls onto his side, away from her.

Presently, Ginny’s hand touches his shoulder. “I know, and I’m sorry, Harry. I guess I’ve just never thought about it. What about it do you find exciting?”

Harry’s not eager to elaborate after Ginny’s prolonged, judgmental silence, but he tries to put it into words. “Just—dominating you a little. Seeing your arse—move when I strike it. I don’t know!”

“Okay, well, that’s a good start. I’m glad you told me.”

They’re quiet, and finally, Harry drifts off to sleep.

_Harry watches Draco slowly licking his ice lolly, his lips closing over it and sucking, cheeks hollowing. Draco’s tongue comes out and swipes the tip, and Draco moans, closing his eyes. Harry moans back. Draco’s hand reaches to fondle Harry’s cock, tugging and pulling at it. His lips leave the ice lolly and press to Harry’s, and Harry soars, hips jerking as he comes._

Harry’s eyes flutter open. He’s in his dark bedroom. A kiss on his shoulder, and Ginny’s voice in the dark.

“Was that good? You were moaning in your sleep.” Her hand leaves his cock. “I thought I’d help you out a bit. A good dream?”

Harry reaches for some tissue and wipes himself off. He hands another tissue to Ginny.

“Yeah.”

“What was it?”

“We were…sharing an ice lolly.”

“Really? Oh, Harry.” Ginny laughs as she settles back down behind him.

“Do you want me to…”

“No, I’m fine, Harry. Goodnight.”

***

When Harry and Ginny go for their joint appointment with Healer Slickstone, she invites them to share the fantasies that they shared with one another. Ginny tells hers, and then looks to Harry.

“Ginny didn’t like my fantasy,” Harry says, not looking at his wife.

“Why not?” Healer Slickstone asks.

“I guess it was too…kinky.”

“What was it?”

Harry tells her.

“Is there any more to it? Do you want her to wear something in particular? A school uniform, perhaps? Should she be entirely bare?”

Harry’s never really had an elaborate fantasy, but the school uniform sounds good. “Her old Hogwart’s uniform.”

He glances at Ginny, whose mouth has fallen open.

“Anything else?” the Healer asks. “Is someone watching?”

The thought of that—another person in the room, a male perhaps, makes Harry hard.

“I—maybe. Yes, sometimes.”

“These fantasies can easily become a part of your sex play,” the Healer says.

Both Harry and Ginny frown, confused.

“What I mean is, they can easily be fulfilled magically.” She takes out a notepad and scribbles on it. “Here is a prescription for a spell that will make it seem as though you are acting out your fantasy, although you are not.” She passes it to Harry.

Ginny bites her lip. “Well, we’ll think about it.” She stands. “I have to leave now, or I’ll miss my meeting. I’m interviewing for a new secretary.” She kisses Harry. When she's gone, Harry looks at Healer Slickstone.

“I’d like to know…”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Well, is it a bad thing that I might need some help staying hard sometimes?”

“Of course not, Harry. It happens to the best of men.” She scribbles on the pad again. “Here is a prescription. When you get the potion, drink it at least five minutes before sexual intercourse.”

Harry reaches for it, suddenly feeling lighter.

***

At home, Ginny is late for dinner. Harry finds the ingredients for spaghetti in the pantry and sets to making it.

It’s almost ready when Ginny breezes through the door.

“Hello!” Her cheeks are flushed, and she looks happy.

“Did you have a good afternoon? Find a secretary?” Harry asks, turning off the stove and draining the noodles. He can smell that vanilla scent again, and he really doesn't like it. Healer Slickstone says they should communicate better, and Harry supposes he should tell Ginny that he dislikes her perfume.

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” She bites her lip. “I hope you don’t mind, but I hired Dean Thomas.”

“Dean interviewed to be your secretary?” Harry asks, surprised.

“Yes. He wants to get into law, and he feels this is the best way. He was really the best candidate. You don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind?” Harry takes two plates out of the cabinet.

“No reason. I’m going to go change.”

As they eat, Ginny seems to be regarding Harry. So much so, that he begins to squirm in his seat.

“Is something wrong?” he finally asks.

“No.” She shakes her head, her hair falling in her face. “I just wondered if…maybe you’d like to try the spell tonight?”

Harry puts his fork down. “What? You mean…the fantasy spell?”

Ginny nods. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

“And you really want to do it?”

“Well, it won’t be real, Harry! I mean, it’s a fantasy!”

“But it will seem real!”

“That’s what makes it exciting! We can try yours, if you like.”

“No, no, let’s do yours.”

Harry can’t eat another bite. Ginny seems to attribute it to excitement, and she suggests they go on upstairs.

Harry excuses himself to the bathroom, glad he’d stopped at the apothecary that afternoon to fill the prescription for the potion. He takes a sip of the yellow liquid. It tastes salty and sweet at the same time. Two more sips, and he puts it away. Turning on the shower, Harry steps in for a quick wash. When he gets back into the bedroom, he can feel his prick hardening. Ginny is waiting for him with her wand in her hand.

“Ready?”

Harry nods, then remembers something. "Ginny, would you mind washing off your perfume?"

"What? Why?"

Harry shrugs. "I just never liked it much, that's all."

Ginny stands, her face a mixture of surprise and hurt. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I didn't want to hurt your feelings. But the Healer says it's important to be honest with you, and I think maybe if you wash it off, it might help me--you know, in bed."

Ginny's mouth sets into a firm line, but she turns and walks into the bathroom. He hears the water running, and a few minutes later she returns and sits down beside him on the bed.

"Don't be mad," he says.

"I'm not mad."

With two flicks of her wrist, Ginny closes her eyes, presumably thinking of her fantasy, and mutters the incantation Healer Slickstone had written down.

The room seems to tilt and mist over, and suddenly, they aren’t in their bedroom anymore. Harry looks around—they’re in a great field of sunflowers.

Harry looks down at himself and finds he’s dressed in simple trousers and a white shirt. Ginny is wearing a sundress.

Harry doesn’t feel in control of his body. It isn’t just that his cock is as hard as a rock due to the potion he took; it’s also that this fantasy is being run by Ginny, and he realises that his actions will be governed by it. It’s an odd feeling, and he doesn’t like it.

The spell makes him move forward, and it’s almost as though he watches a movie of himself, although he can feel everything that’s happening. He kisses Ginny, slowly and assuredly. She parts her lips and moans. Harry’s never acted the way the fantasy makes him act, and he supposes that’s the point. His hands are all over Ginny, possessively touching her everywhere. She’s passive, letting him take of her, but Harry can tell how turned on she is.

When he has her naked, he thrusts into her, her legs twined around his waist. He kisses her mouth, jaw, and breasts, his hips pumping as though he can’t get enough of her body. She screams when she comes, and he’s thankfully able to reach orgasm inside her.

When the scene dissolves, Harry lies on their bed at home, hunkered over Ginny, and they’re both breathing hard. He moves off her.

“Wow,” Ginny says, “that was amazing, Harry!”

He nods, although he doesn’t think it was amazing. More like manipulative and weird.

Ginny’s staring at him. “You didn’t like it?”

Harry takes a breath, counts to ten. Ginny obviously enjoyed what they did, and it won’t hurt him to play along. “Sure. Sure I did. It was just…well, odd being controlled like that. It was like every action wasn’t my own.”

“I think it was brilliant! You just don’t know how it feels to have a fantasy suddenly come to life like that! You were amazing, Harry!”

 _But it wasn’t really me,_ Harry thinks.That Harry was so into Ginny, he couldn’t get enough of her. Harry has never felt like that, and he suddenly feels sad about it. That's what Ginny longs for, and Harry cannot give it to her.

Harry’s cock is still rock hard, no doubt from the potion he took. Ginny stares at it. “I saw you come…I felt it. Why are you still hard?”

Harry takes hold of himself. “I don’t know. I just am.”

“You must have really been into it. I swear, I thought you were going to split me in two!” She grins. “Would you like to try your fantasy now?” Ginny sits up. “You’ve got to see what it’s like, Harry.”

Harry wonders for a moment what it would be like to really try his fantasy. To turn Ginny over on his knee and spank her round arse while she gets off on it. Ginny’s still talking, and before Harry knows it, she has his hand in her own and is flicking his wand twice, saying the incantation. The fantasy that was so vivid in his mind seconds earlier is suddenly very real.

They’re in an office—Dumbledore’s, Harry realises with a jolt—and Ginny stands before him wearing her Hogwart’s uniform. Harry doesn’t feel manipulated this time---he feels as though he’s free to do whatever he wants. It is Ginny who is being manipulated, and Harry’s sees that her eyes are big and round even as she comes to stand defiantly before him.

“You’ve been very bad, Miss Weasley,” Harry says, enjoying the feeling of power that washes over him.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Ginny asks.

“Unbutton your blouse, and let me see how much you’ve grown this year,” Harry says, and _fuck!_ He’s so hard.

Ginny’s fingers tremble as she unbuttons her blouse. She isn't wearing a bra, and her nipples stick out stiffly.

“Ah…you really have become a young lady, Miss Weasley,” Harry says. “Don’t you think you should wear a bra?”

“I’m not large enough for one,” Ginny says, blushing furiously.

Harry reaches out and tweaks one of her pert nipples. “Don’t be a slut, Miss Weasley. Your nipples plainly show. I bet you like all the boys looking at you, and the professors, too. He rolls both nipples between his fingers and thumbs and she arches, crying out.

“See how stiff they get?” Harry asks. “You can see that right through your blouse when your robes are off, and you’re always taking off your robes, you slutty thing.”

Harry’s dick throbs. He can’t seem to control his own words, although they definitely come from his fantasies.

“Come feel how hard I am,” he tells her, and she moves forward, placing a hand on the rigid length of him under his trousers. “That’s all because of your tiny breasts with their peaked nipples,” he tells her.

“Now, about how bad you’ve been…I’m giving your arse twenty slaps for your misdeeds, and ten more for the presumptuous way you display yourself, Miss Weasley. And since I am your headmaster, I will call in a witness. Mr. Wood!”

Oliver Wood steps through the door, and Harry almost squirts his pants at the sight of him in his prefect uniform from eighth year. He realises he's always thought Oliver rather good-looking.

”Miss Weasley is getting punished. You are to witness. I don't trust her not to do something untoward. Bend over my lap, Miss Weasley.”

Ginny does, and Harry pushes his rigid erection up against her belly.

“Mr. Wood, lift her skirt, if you please.”

Oliver does so, but not before pressing a kiss to Harry’s lips. Harry’s fantasy has spun out of his control, totally run by Harry’s subconscious. His tongue duels with Oliver’s for a moment before Oliver pulls away and bares Ginny’s lace-covered arse.

“Her knickers, Mr. Wood.”

Oliver inches Ginny’s knickers down to her knees, and Harry stares at Ginny’s pale, round arse.

“Count, Miss Weasley.” Raising his hand up, Harry slaps Ginny's arse, hard.

Ginny squeals. “One!”

He slaps her again, enjoying how red her skin gets.

“Two!”

By the time Harry gets to eight, Ginny’s wiggling over his lap, sobbing.

“Mr. Wood, I think this little slut is enjoying herself,” Harry says. “Please verify.”

With a smirk, Oliver pushes one finger inside Ginny’s cunt. He pulls it out, dripping.

“I thought so.” Harry smacks Ginny’s arse hard. “Have her lick her own slutty juices.”

“N-nine!” Ginny yells, clutching at Harry’s leg. Oliver’s finger slides into her mouth, and Ginny obediently licks it clean. “Oh, please hurry, Headmaster!”

The next smack is even harder. “Don’t tell me what to do, Miss Weasley. I’m adding another five for your cheeky attitude.”

“T-ten. Yes sir.”

Harry continues the spanking. His palm is sore, and Ginny’s arse beet red. Oliver stands beside Harry’s chair, cock tenting his trousers. Harry licks his lips, and Oliver unzips. Staring at the red tip of Oliver’s cock, Harry realises he wants more than anything to taste it.

“Twenty!” Ginny counts, arse wiggling. She begins trying to get off on Harry’s lap.

“Slut, be still!” Harry spanks her three times in quick succession.

Ginny counts breathlessly between cries. Oliver’s cock is all the way out now; long, sleek, and so tempting as it moves toward Harry’s mouth.

All Harry can think is that he cannot let this happen. He has to stop it before it goes too far. Oliver’s cock touches his lips, and Ginny moves to look over her shoulder, eyes widening.

“Stop!” Harry yells, even though Oliver’s cock sliding against Harry’s lips feels magnificent. “Stop!” Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry concentrates all his magic on breaking the spell. There’s a flash of white, and Harry opens his eyes.

Ginny falls off his lap staring dazedly at him. The bedroom is quiet.

“What the hell was that, Harry?” Ginny demands, rubbing her sore arse.

Harry covers his face with his hands.

***

In the next few weeks, Ginny works later and later, sometimes not coming home until ten P.M. Harry avoids her, embarrassed about what happened until he’s just not anymore.

After all, why hasn’t he the right to his own fantasies? Hadn’t she pushed him to reveal what he wanted? He decides that Ginny’s being unreasonable.

Many mornings Harry descends the stairs to see her breezing out of the house, coffee cup in her hand. Others, he finds her already gone.

“Ginny, we have to talk,” he yells after her when three weeks go by like this and he catches her with hand on doorknob.

She turns, her face conflicted. She bites her lip. “All right. Tonight.”

Harry watches her go before heaving a sigh of relief.

At the ministry, Harry works to clear his papers so he can leave on time that evening. Ginny owls him that she will be making dinner, and he takes that as a good sign. But everything seems to go wrong. He’s turned in the wrong papers; the meeting at ten is changed to noon, pushing lunch to two o’clock, which he takes as a business lunch with three higher-ups from the ministry who want to discuss politics; his notes for his four PM meeting disappear, and he has to make new ones. After lunch Harry’s secretary appears at the door to his office saying that he missed his appointment with Healer Slickstone, and Harry tells her to cancel all further appointments. He blames the therapist for what happened with the fantasy.

Just as Harry thinks he’s going to get out the door only a half hour later than usual, his boss calls an emergency meeting to deal with the fallout of an afternoon attack on visiting dignitaries from Brazil. It winds up being nine o’clock before he walks through the Floo, and he’s had no time to owl Ginny.

Dinner is cold and on the table. There’s a note from Ginny saying she went back to work to finish a few things. Harry immediately turns around to go there, knowing his wife will be fuming.

Her office is not far from their house, and Harry walks, the chilly air a welcomed balm to his heated skin. He enters the small building. The foyer’s empty, the receptionist having already left. There’s a light on in Ginny’s office, and Harry raises his hand to push the door open, when he hears voices.

“No, Dean,” Ginny says.

“But I—“

“I have to go.”

“Ginny, wait.” There’s a rustling sound.

“Dean—goodbye. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry turns and leaves. He isn’t sure what he just heard, but he does know he doesn’t want them to know he heard. He sits at home in the dark, expecting Ginny to walk in at any moment, but it’s another hour before she does.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” she asks when she walks in after eleven o’clock. Harry thinks she smells of alcohol.

“Just waiting for you.”

Ginny turns on a lamp and sits down on the edge of the sofa.

"Sorry I was late," he says. "I didn't have time to owl you."

Ginny seems strangely calm; not at all angry, as Harry thought she'd be.

“Harry, is there something you need to tell me?” she asks, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yes. I wanted to tell you that I think you’re taking what happened a little too much to heart. It was just a stupid fantasy.“

“Harry!” Ginny’s face flushes. Evidently, now he's made her angry.

“What? That’s what I wanted to say, Ginny! You’ve been giving me the cold shoulder for this, but I really don’t think I deserve it.”

“Maybe you don’t,” Ginny says, surprising him. “But I do think there’s more to this than you’re letting on. You were so hard during that fantasy.”

“Of course! That’s the point of it!”

“But I never thought something like that could turn you on. It was humiliating.”

“This whole thing was your idea!” Harry shouts. “All I do is try to make you happy, and you never are!”

Ginny’s face softens. “Harry, don’t you realize that you need something different than what I can give you?”

“What are you talking about? I’ve never complained about what you give me! We’re happy, if you’ll let us be!”

Ginny shakes her head.

Harry runs his hands over his face, trying to calm down. “Ginny. We love each other—we can work things out.”

She’s silent.

Harry thinks of Dean and the yearning he heard in his voice.

“Is Thomas trying to convince you otherwise?”

Ginny’s mouth falls open. “Dean? What do you mean?”

“I think he’d like to break us up.”

“That’s ridiculous, Harry.” But he can see the lie in her face.

“Ginny,” Harry says softly. “We are about to have everything we’ve ever wanted…a family. Don’t you think it’s worth talking things through?”

Ginny looks at him, her eyes troubled. “But your fantasy—Oliver Wood! Do you really want a man to…to do that to you?”

“Blimey, Ginny, it was just a fantasy! I knew you wouldn’t understand. If I’d really wanted to act it out, I would have said. You forced me into it.”

Ginny worries her lip. “I had drinks with a friend just now. You don’t know her. But…we were talking, and she’s been married a long time. She said couples sometimes have to try different things. But Harry—I always thought I’d be enough for you!”

Harry leans in and kisses her. He can’t lose her---he can’t lose this...normalcy. Family. “Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll show you how you’re enough for me.”

Harry took the potion an hour ago, and he’s stiff as a board. When they reach the bedroom and he takes Ginny into his arms, she thinks he’s hard for her, and she immediately responds. Harry works to be passionate, as he was in her fantasy, kissing her deeply and wetly. He rips at her clothes. Remembering her choice of photos in Slickstone’s office, he sits down in the desk chair, impaling her on his lap, fucking up into her while she shudders, eyes half-closing in pleasure.

“Oh, Harry…”

Harry laps his tongue over her stiffened nipples and stares into her eyes—everything he knows she wants him to do. Although the potion keeps him hard, he finds it messes with his ability to feel. It’s as though he’s wearing one of those Muggle condoms they once tried before Ginny got a prescription for a contraception charm. But as long as Ginny’s enjoying it, Harry’s happy to do it. They will have a family; they will be happy.

After Ginny comes—actually screaming out his name---Harry kisses her and slips out of her, murmuring that he’s going to wash up. In the bathroom, he stands in the shower, wanking hard, thoughts of Oliver Wood and Draco Malfoy and a host of other handsome men making him come all over the walls of the shower. Afterwards, he presses his forehead to the cold tiles, eyes squeezed shut, catching his breath. As his heartbeat slows, he tries to ignore the fact that this just isn't normal.

Things go well after that, and Harry begins to have hope. Ginny stops working late, and Harry keeps taking the potion. Ginny promises to go off her contraception charms after Christmas.

News breaks out about Draco Malfoy’s potion being a success, and for a while that’s all anyone’s talking about.

“Imagine, Draco Malfoy making such a discovery,” Ginny says one night in bed after a particularly vigorous bout of love making that made Ginny come twice but left Harry with a headache.

“He’s always been very intelligent, especially with potions,” Harry says. “Did you realise that wizards used to be able to conceive?”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it. It’s always been a mystery why it stopped. This really is a brilliant breakthrough.”

She yawns, and Harry clutches at his still hard cock until he’s sure she’s asleep. Then he wanks to thoughts of a naked Draco in the potions lab at school.

Ginny is happy, but Harry is tired. The more he takes the potion, the more it masks his pleasure. He finds himself wanking mid-day in the ministry bathroom just to feel something real. Ginny is insatiable, and Harry has to take a dose of the potion every day when he gets home so he’ll be ready. Sometimes he stays hard all night, and has to go find the magazine he bought and hid under a loose board in the closet. In it, photos of wizards wearing hose and lace garters as they suck each other off bring him to a shivering climax every time.

Because Ginny thinks Harry’s interested in taking her against a wall, Ginny invites him to do so one night when he gets home from work. It isn’t easy—Harry’s thighs burn trying to keep her aloft while he fucks into her, finger working feverishly over her clit to speed the process up. And then he stays hard throughout dinner. When Ginny discovers his erection later, she immediately responds and Harry winds up fucking her again, this time in the shower. By the time they get in bed, he’s sore and his cock is numb.

He can’t go on like this, he thinks, but if he can hold out until Ginny goes off her potions and conceives…

If they could just have their family, Harry knows they will be happy.

A month later, Harry finds himself in the waiting room of a Healer’s office. He’s out of his potion, and Christmas is another month away. He can’t call Healer Slickstone, because he’s stopped seeing her. Subtle inquires led him to Healer Gibbon’s office, and he sits with a newspaper in front of his face, waiting for his fake name to be called.

“Harry?” the voice brings Harry out of his musings, and his heart speeds up at the fact that someone recognised him in this place. He looks up to see Draco Malfoy standing over him, handsome as ever.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, straightening up in his seat.

“I’m seeing Healer Gibbons about my potion. It’s going on the market soon.”

“Oh. Oh, yes. Congratulations on that,” Harry mutters irritably, crossing his legs and going back to his newspaper.

“Thank you.” Draco takes a seat beside Harry. “You look awful. Are you sick?”

“Just not sleeping well.” Harry rubs his eyes and refocuses on the ad for lingerie. The witch looks a bit like Luna Lovegood.

“Everything all right at home?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t it be?”

“No need to snap. I just thought…”

“You thought what, Malfoy?”

Draco holds up his hands. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist!” He looks around. There’s one other person in the waiting room, and Draco casts a Muffliato spell.

“I just thought that you were having some trouble at home, that’s all.”

“Why in the hell did you think that?”

“Because you looked…I don’t know. Forget about it. Obviously I was wrong.” But Draco doesn’t look like he thinks he was wrong.

Annoyance bubbles in Harry’s veins, and he’s aware that he’s overreacting a bit. But Harry’s edgy and tired, and the git is really getting on his nerves. How dare Draco think he knows anything at all about Harry’s life?

Just as Harry’s about to lay into Draco about it, a nurse calls out, “Alfred Zinglemyer!”

As Harry stands, flinging the newspaper onto the nearby table, Draco stifles a laugh, eyebrow raised. Harry ignores him and heads for the back.

A half hour later, Harry leaves in an even worse mood. The Healer told him that he couldn’t possibly prescribe more potion, even after Harry sunk so low as to throw his name around. The potion isn’t meant to take on a regular basis, and the amount Harry had should have lasted a year. He was advised that withdrawal may be rather nasty.

“Great, just great,” he mutters, already in a sweat. It’s almost the time of day when he takes the potion, and he’s been three days without it. He’s avoided Ginny like the plague in those three days, feigning an over-burdened work schedule. He feels awful.

Out in the parking lot, Harry walks toward the Disapparation point, eyes watching his feet and mind in a turmoil.

“Harry.”

Not again!

“Are you following me?” Harry whirls around on Draco.

“No, I was waiting for you. I wanted to apologise.”

“There’s no need,” Harry growls, and then stumbles. Draco steadies him with a hand to Harry’s elbow. The touch seems to burn through Harry’s sleeve. He looks up at Draco, and he doesn’t know what the other man sees in his face, but Draco immediately tugs Harry the rest of the way to the Disapparation point, clutches him to his chest, and Harry feels the familiar tug at his insides.

The next thing he knows, Harry’s standing in a parlour.

“Good grief, is this Malfoy Manor?” Harry asks, looking around.

“Yes, I live here,” Draco tells him, crossing the room to a bar. “I think you need a stiff drink.”

Harry’s hot. Sweat runs down his neck into his collar, and he loosens it before removing his robes and tossing them onto a chair. He takes the firewhiskey Draco proffers and swallows it in one go.

“Are you going to admit that something’s wrong?” Draco asks, sipping at his own drink and looking infuriatingly at ease.

Harry sighs. “I’ve recently been prescribed some…medicine. I’m out and won’t be getting any more, and there’s a bit of withdrawal.”

“I can only imagine what kind of ‘medicine’ you’d be seeing Healer Gibbons for,” Draco says.

“Yes, well, stress and all that.”

“Yes.” Draco’s eyes run over Harry with discernment.

“Don’t go thinking you know anything about me,” Harry says, crossing to the bar to refill his glass. Fuck, why is he getting hard? Is it a side effect of the withdrawal? If that’s the case, perhaps he should go home and screw his wife while he can.

“Did you know that I was married for a brief time?” Draco surprises Harry by asking. He lounges against the fireplace, his feet crossed. He’s removed his robes and his shirt is open at the neck, revealing pale, smooth skin. Harry wonders if Draco’s chest is hairless.

“What? No! I thought you were…gay.”

“I am. But there was a time when I thought I wasn’t going to get anywhere with this potion, and I wanted to please my father. I married a witch I met in Pakistan. It didn’t last long.”

“I suppose not, if you prefer men.”

“Yes. I had trouble getting hard for her. Her name was Afaaf. It means purity and modesty—I’ll always regret that I took that from her.” Draco’s eyes are a deep grey, deeper than Harry ever realised before.

“I got hard thinking about men, but then it would be difficult to remain hard.”

An uncomfortable feeling unfurls in Harry’s chest.

“Why are you telling me this?” Harry downs his second glass of Firewhiskey.

Suddenly Draco’s striding toward him, eyes intent. Harry backs up into the bar. When Draco’s face is an inch from Harry’s, Draco says, “Because there are some things you just need to face sooner or later, Harry.” And then Draco’s kissing him. Harry doesn’t realise he’s dropped his glass until he hears it shatter on the floor. His cock twitches and Harry puts his hands up, meaning to push Draco away, but instead he pulls him in, opening his mouth to accept the onslaught of Draco’s tongue.

He more than accepts it, he gives back as good as he gets. Harry’s never felt so good; even through the effects of withdrawal, he feels spectacular.

The button pops on Harry’s trousers and then a cool hand encloses over Harry’s erection. Harry almost whines with pleasure. Draco’s rubbing himself on Harry’s thigh, which has somehow imposed itself between Draco’s legs. They breathe heavily between kisses, and Harry’s on fire—wanting more, but so on edge he knows he’s going to come. Just one more swipe of Draco’s thumb over his glans, and he’s there, legs jerking, Draco nibbling Harry’s lower lip as he continues to thrust against him.

Harry sags with repletion, holding onto Draco as he buries his face in Harry’s neck and thrusts one, two, three more times before moaning seductively into Harry’s shoulder.

“Oh… _fuck_.”

And yes, that’s what Harry wants.

But he can’t…what has he done? What just happened here?

He pushes Draco away and zips up his pants.

“Harry.”

Harry doesn’t look at Draco. He can’t. He dons his cloak and, grabbing some Floo powder off the mantel and flinging it into the fireplace, steps through to his home.

And oh, Merlin, Ginny’s wearing one of her silk negligees, an oven mitt incongruously stuck on one hand.

“Harry! You’re home earlier than I expected.”

“Yes, well, I—couldn’t wait to see you.”

Ginny’s face lights up, and Harry feels like the lowest creature in the world. His pants are soggy, and he’s sweating like a horse.

“I’m just going to freshen up,” he tells her and heads up the stairs for the bathroom.

As he washes, Harry runs through what happened. The feel of Draco’s mouth on his---it was more exhilarating than any kiss Harry’s ever experienced before. And Draco’s hand on his cock and his obvious erection against Harry’s thigh…Harry had come so hard. He’s afraid of what it all means.

When Harry’s clean, he towels off and puts on a robe. Obviously Ginny has an amorous evening in mind, and he can only hope he’ll be able to deliver.

“Smells wonderful,” Harry says when he enters the kitchen to find the table set and candles lit.

Ginny sits down opposite him. Her negligee is lace at the top and has a sheer skirt. Her nipples show plainly, as does the rest of her body. She wears a skimpy lace thong underneath.

As they eat, Ginny licks her fork a lot, eyes on Harry. Harry pours himself more wine.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, Harry.”

Harry looks up at her, his mind having drifted to Draco’s touch.

“I can’t wait to get you inside me. It’s been too long.”

Harry swallows. Inside her…what if he can’t? But he just had an erection with Draco. Surely that means he doesn’t need the potion. He takes another bite and chews.

Ginny’s steady gaze is unnerving. She stands up, and Harry’s eyes move over her. She slips off the thong and tosses it onto the table. Her pubic hair is shaved into a neat strip.

“When did you…”

“I went to the spa today. Do you like it?”

“Er.” Harry isn’t sure what he thinks about it. Ginny comes to stand in front of him.

“I was thinking…maybe I’ve been silly to want to wait until after Christmas. I’ve stopped taking my contraceptive charms.” She sits on Harry's lap and brushes his hair away from his brow. It takes him a moment to realise she’s looking at his scar.

“What did you say?”

“I said I’ve stopped the contraception. We can start trying for a family.” Ginny smiles.

“You have?” Harry can’t help but smile. They would have a family, just as he’s always wanted. A home with a family and all the traditions that come with it. Harry will feel loved and safe and wanted. His hand moves to Ginny’s neck and he pulls her down for a kiss, opening his mouth to taste her.

He can’t help but mark the difference between this kiss and his kiss with Draco. Kissing Ginny is pleasant. Kissing Draco made every nerve ending in Harry’s body crackle with desire.

Ginny opens Harry’s robe and straddles him, hiking her negligee up around her waist.

Harry isn’t the slightest bit hard. He continues to kiss her, his hands moving down to cup her buttocks.

Ginny lets out a little mewl of desire. Harry still isn’t getting hard. He moves his mouth to her neck and then down to tongue her nipples through the lace of her negligee. _A baby. Ginny wants a baby._

Ginny arches, pressing her heat to his slack member and grinding down.

Harry closes his eyes and pictures Draco…Draco, Draco…willing himself to get hard. His cock twitches, but Ginny won’t stop moaning, and her body’s all wrong.

“Ginny, I…”

“Harry, what’s wrong?”

Harry manages a rueful smile. “I’ve been working so hard, and I’m tired…I had a couple of Firewhiskeys too.” He shrugs. “I don’t think I can follow through tonight.” He lifts her off his lap. “But let me take care of you.” Lifting her up, he carries her into the other room, setting her on the couch.

“But, Harry… I really wanted to make love. Maybe you’ll get hard in a minute…”

“It happens sometimes, Ginny,” Harry says, settling between her thighs and pressing a kiss to the strip of red hair. “Tomorrow I’ll be more rested. We can try then.”

“But, maybe…oh! Oh, yes, yes, Harry…” Ginny’s well distracted, and soon her hands push Harry’s head down encouragingly.

***

The following morning, Harry wakes with an erection. He thinks he best take advantage of it. Ginny’s still asleep beside him, but he scoots closer and brings the strap of her nightgown down, lapping and nibbling on a rosy nipple while his hand moves between her legs.

“Harry?” Ginny’s eyes flutter open.

“It better be Harry,” he teases.

She smiles, and opens her legs wider. Harry continues to tease her clit while sucking her nipple until she’s very wet, and then he moves between her legs, sliding inside.

“Yes,” she murmurs, arching up. Harry begins to pump, staring down at her.

“I’m feeling a bit better this morning,” he says.

Ginny smiles, wrapping her legs around his waist. “I can tell!”

But after a moment, Harry’s erection begins to flag.

 _Shit, no!_ He closes his eyes and conjures up thoughts of Draco, what it might be like to bend him over something and get between those cheeks. But every moan of Ginny’s and every swipe against her skin reminds Harry of who he’s really with, and he can't help but realise that the fact that he has to think of someone else while with his wife is all wrong.

It’s no use, he can’t do it. Ginny clutches his biceps, eyes worried.

“Sorry, sorry.” Harry withdraws.

“Harry, this isn’t normal.” Ginny sits up. Her left breast is still exposed, and Harry looks away.

“Do you think that helps, Ginny? Really?”

She bites her lip. “Maybe…well, how about if I let you—spank me? Like in the fantasy?”

Harry covers his face. He can’t believe they’ve gotten to this—Ginny offering to do something she doesn’t like in order to get him hard.

“No, thanks.” He gets up and leaves the room before he says something he’ll regret.

The next time is the same. And the next. Harry is irritable and snappish, still under the effects of withdrawal from the potion. Ginny looks at him with overly bright eyes, and it makes Harry angrier.

He notices Ginny has cleaned out the spare room and begun buying baby things. It makes Harry happy, but at the same time, it puts pressure on him.

One weekend, he awakens to find Ginny in the kitchen searching through the laundry. She’s only wearing a thong, and the sight of her bare arse gives him the first stirrings he’s felt in days, but he isn’t going to get his hopes up.

“I made pancakes,” Ginny tells him, pulling a blouse and bra from the basket.

“They smell wonderful,” he says, trying to be more cheerful. He sits at the table and rubs the scruff on his face.

Ginny drops the bra and bends to pick it up, her anus winking at him behind the thin strap of lace as she does so. Harry’s prick perks up. He moves his eyes away and drinks his orange juice, but Ginny’s noticed. She always does. She licks her lips.

“Harry, I was thinking.”

“Hm?” Harry takes a bite of pancake.

“Well, I think I was wrong to dismiss the kinds of things you like in bed.”

“Ginny, you made it quite clear that spanking doesn’t turn you on, and I don’t want you to do something you don’t enjoy just for me.”

“Well, maybe I’ve been selfish, that’s all.” She turns toward the counter, and again Harry’s eyes are drawn to her arse. “Maybe I'll learn to like it, or maybe we can find something we both enjoy.”

Harry puts down his fork, curious. “Such as?”

“You obviously like…well, arse play. And I haven’t been very accommodating. Marriage is give and take, after all.”

“What are you saying, Ginny?” Harry asks carefully, dick twitching.

“I’m saying that maybe it would help if we do a few things you like—at least to warm up.”

Harry’s out of his chair in a moment.

“Um, what…what would you like to do?” Ginny asks, eyes wide.

Harry leads her to the living room. “I think…I think if I could just look.” He nudges her until she’s bent over the sofa, arse in the air. He smooths his hands over her buttocks, his finger swiping gently at her anus.

“Harry, I don’t mean…I don’t want to…”

“Shh, let me just look.”

Harry opens his robe and takes his cock in hand. It’s already filling with interest. He rubs it over Ginny’s backside.

“Gin. Let me….” Harry leans down and swipes his tongue over her furled opening.

“Harry!” Ginny pulls away. “That’s disgusting!”

“But you said…”

“I didn’t say anything about _that_!” Her face is the picture of mortification. “I never thought you’d want to do something so gross.”

Harry swallows. “Okay, then, what?”

Ginny slowly moves back to the couch, turning around again so that he can admire her arse. “Maybe…maybe just feel my butt, and then…then take me in this position this time.”

Harry bites back a sigh and runs his hands over Ginny’s upturned arse for a bit before positioning his flagging erection at her cunt, sliding it in.

It’s wet and smooth, but not at all what he wants. Ginny spreads her legs wider, and Harry pushes her head down into the sofa.

He thrusts his hips, staring at the wall.

It’s no use. He’s now too soft to fuck properly and slips out.

Ginny turns on him, eyes angry.

“What’s wrong with you? Huh? Do I have to bring in a third party— _Oliver Wood_ , maybe, to get you to fuck me?” Her eyes are slits, and her lips tremble. “Or do you need that…that _potion_?”

Harry stares at her, dumbfounded.

“Yes, I found the bottle, Harry. So you need a potion to get hard with me? And now you can’t, can you?” Tears run down her cheeks, and she takes several steps away from him. “I thought letting you do the things you wanted would help, but I guess that was too much to hope for.” She turns and runs up the stairs. Harry sits down and puts his head in his hands.

When Ginny returns, she’s dressed for the office.

“And you know what really hurts, Harry? You got me wanting a baby. And you can’t make me pregnant, can you? Don’t wait up.”

“But it’s Saturday!”

“I have things I need to do.” She slams the door behind her, and Harry goes to the window, watching her stride down the street, briefcase in hand.

Miserable, Harry walks upstairs and gets dressed.

He winds up at his favourite pub. He just hopes Blaise doesn’t show up, because Harry really doesn’t feel like talking.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do. His dreams of a happy life with a family are crumbling at his feet, and he’s powerless to fix it. He stares unseeingly out the window as the sun sets.

When Draco takes a seat across from him, Harry jumps.

“How is it you always seem to be where I am?”

“Nonsense, Harry. I haven’t seen you in weeks, so unless you haven’t been anywhere since you were at Malfoy Manor…”

“Oh, shut it. I’m not in the mood to listen to you.”

“Still having trouble at home?”

Harry’s too tired to deny it. “Ginny wants a baby and I do, too, but I can’t…”

“Yes, I told you—I had a similar experience.”

Harry looks at him. “But that’s not the same at all. You’re gay, and I’m not.”

Draco cocks an eyebrow at Harry.

“I’m not!” Harry says hotly. “I have a problem. Erectile dysfunction, I think they call it. I need to go to a healer for some help.”

“You do not have erectile dysfunction,” Draco says.

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Because you got off with me easily enough.”

Harry grunts and looks away. “That was a fluke.”

Draco stands. “Harry, come with me.”

Harry hesitates, knowing he shouldn’t, but _damn,_ he wants to! He follows Draco.

In the Men’s restroom, Draco pulls Harry into a stall and locks the door.

“Draco, what…”

Draco takes a seat on the loo and unfastens Harry’s trousers, and Harry’s glued to the spot, unable to make a move to leave even if the whole place caught fire. He should tell Draco to stop…he should turn around and leave, but he won’t. He knows he won't.

Draco’s hands on Harry's cock are just as Harry remembered, cool and gentle, but firm and sure. Harry watches in awe as his prick begins to lengthen, even before Draco starts licking it, teasing the head.

Harry’s closes his eyes and lets out a moan, which brings Draco’s wand out to cast a Muffliato charm before he resumes licking, spittle dripping onto the floor as he takes the head into his mouth and gives it a wet suck. Then Draco takes in more, and suddenly his blond head is bobbing over Harry’s crotch, and Harry’s hands come up to grip Draco’s hair. The feeling is brilliant…awesome…magnificent. Ginny’s never sucked Harry this way, like it’s the most enjoyable thing ever. Harry’s going to come so, so hard...

When Draco suddenly stops, Harry opens his eyes and looks at him. Draco’s lips are red and wet and his grey eyes study Harry’s face.

“This is not a fluke, Harry. I’m a man sucking your cock, and you either want me to or you don’t.”

“Any man gets hard for a blow job, Malfoy,” Harry’s voice comes out in a rasp, and he realises he’s running his fingers through Draco’s soft hair.

“Oh, really?” Malfoy stands, and Harry has to take a step back, crowding against the door.

“Does every man get hard for this?” He turns around and drops his pants.

Harry finds himself staring at the finest arse he’s ever seen. So pale, so round and perky, so perfectly-- _masculine_.

Draco looks at him over his shoulder. “Want to fuck me, Potter?”

“W-what?”

Draco looks down at Harry’s cock standing straight out from his groin.

“You don’t seem to be losing your erection any.”

“It’s just that---I—I like doing it like this. I prefer it, actually.”

“I wonder why that is?” Draco says sardonically. “Come on; you know you want to.” He wiggles his bum enticingly.

It takes everything Harry has to push himself into his pants. Draco just stares at him with knowing eyes.

Harry isn’t fooling him.

He’s not fooling himself, either. As he strides out of the loo and the bar, Harry’s well aware that more than anything, he had wanted to fuck Draco Malfoy in that bathroom stall.

***

Ginny gives Harry the cold shoulder for three days. Then one evening she brings Dean Thomas home from work with her.

“Harry, Dean has agreed to help us.”

“Help us what?” Harry asks, looking up from the newspaper. He’d been reading about the potion Draco had created being put on the market and thinking about their interlude in the bathroom stall.

“Help us have our baby.”

Harry puts the paper down and stares at Ginny. “What are you talking about?”

Ginny glances at Dean before coming to sit beside Harry.

“I told Dean about your problem--”

“You _what_?”

“Well, I was upset. He was at the office the day of our fight and consoled me.”

Dean looks uncomfortable. He glances about the room, anywhere but at Harry.

“I’ll bet he did,” Harry says. “He’s wanted in your knickers for a long time.”

“Harry!”

“Well, he has!”

“Ginny’s a beautiful woman,” Dean speaks up. “I admit I desire her. More than that, I--”

“Dean.” Ginny’s voice stops him.

“And you’ve tried to seduce her,” Harry’s eyes narrow.

Ginny clears her throat. “We haven’t done anything, Harry.”

He looks at her. “You want him, too.”

“I want you more!” Ginny says. “We’re married, Harry, and I don’t take that lightly.”

“Neither do I!” He tries not to think of Draco.

“Good. And we want a child, don’t we? That’s where Dean comes in. He’s willing to be with us…you know, like in your fantasy.”

“Ginny, I can’t believe you told him!” Harry stands up, irate.

“I did it for us! This way you can get me pregnant. He can do whatever—watch, or let you…”

Harry can’t believe this. “And he’s willing to do that?”

Dean nods. “I’ve been with a man a time or two.”

“Oh, Merlin. Get out!”

“Harry!” Ginny cries.

“Get out, get out, get out!” Harry’s skin tingles as his magic surges, and the vase on the table explodes, water pouring onto the floor. Dean stares at it, aghast.

Ginny runs after Harry as he grabs Dean and hauls him to the front door. “Harry! Stop! Just think about it!”

“I told you,” Harry rounds on his wife. “That was a fantasy. A fantasy! Not something I really wanted to act out! You are the one who repeated the charm to make it happen!”

Ginny’s lips tremble and she blinks back tears. “But for a baby…”

“There are some things I simply won’t do, Ginny.” Harry pushes Dean out the door, where he stands on the porch staring over Harry’s shoulder at Ginny like a love-struck calf.

Harry slams the door.

“This could have worked, Harry.” Ginny’s face reddens and her lip pulls up in a sneer. “You’re being selfish.”

“Selfish! Because I don’t want another man in our bedroom?”

“I don’t believe that. I think you do want a man in our bedroom. I think you want a man there more than you want me!” Ginny’s face is red and her fists clenched at her sides.

Harry rubs his hands down his face, counting slowly to ten. He will not lose his temper completely.

“Right now, all I want is some peace and quiet.” Harry says quietly, moving off toward his study and shutting himself in.

What does he want, Harry asks himself. What does he really want?

He’s always thought it was a wife and children. A real family. But even if he managed to get Ginny pregnant, this problem wouldn’t go away. He’s unable to sustain an erection unless he’s up her arse. Period. He thinks about Draco and how tempted he’d been to fuck him. Given the choice, which would he rather do? Fuck Draco’s arse or fuck Ginny’s?

The answer to that scares Harry to death.

***

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it does. And it should hurt, but it really doesn’t.

A month after Ginny brought Dean home with her, tired of Ginny’s late nights at the office and the poor excuses for conversation they’d had since, Harry goes to find her and force her to really talk to him. When she isn’t at work, he Apparates to Dean’s flat, easily getting around the flimsy wards. He follows the trail of clothing to Dean’s bedroom.

It should tear Harry up to see his wife with another man inside her. How she writhes and cries out—how her fingers grip Dean’s back, leaving red marks; how her ankles cross above Dean’s buttocks as they tense and relax with each thrust. And what does it say about Harry that his eyes linger on Dean’s fit arse? Nothing that Harry hasn’t already admitted to himself in recent weeks.

But all Harry really feels is exhaustion. He sags against the door jam, watching in an oddly detached manner. Harry can’t help but note how intently Dean kisses Ginny’s neck and shoulders and how he pauses to murmur things in her ear that make her smile and gasp. When Ginny’s thighs squeeze Dean’s hips and Dean cries out more passionately than Harry ever has with her, Harry straightens up. In the quiet after, Harry speaks over their panting.

“I’m packing my things, Ginny.”

Dean jumps off the bed like it’s caught on fire, and Ginny gasps, grabbing the sheet and pulling it up to cover herself, which is frankly ridiculous, considering.

She blinks at Harry, eyes both startled and sad. “Harry. I-I’m sorry.”

“I am, too.”

He leaves.

That night, as he packs, Harry thinks back to when he and Ginny first got together. The night she came to his room in Gryffindor Tower and Harry cast a silencing charm around his bed. They’d been so young, and Ginny’s hands had shaken as she’d undressed. Harry had never seen another person naked before, and the feel of skin on skin had been delicious. He wonders now if it was her narrow hips and almost nonexistent bust that made her attractive to him. But even then, Harry hadn’t gotten completely hard and he hadn’t lasted long. He’d just been too young and too stupid to think about it.

He moves into a hotel.

Blaise invites him over to have dinner with him and Fiona at least twice a week. The rest of the time, Harry eats at the diner around the corner.

Eventually, Ron comes to Harry, asking what happened.

“Ginny won’t explain!" His familiar face is tragic. "Even to Hermione!”

“Irreconcilable differences,” Harry says softly.

“But, mate—since when? I thought you two were happy! Is it the sex therapy thing?”

Harry just shakes his head.

“Ginny said it was a mutual decision, but I just don’t understand.” Ron’s eyes are sad, and Harry feels worse for him than for himself.

“Yes, it was.” Harry’s glad Ginny didn’t try to turn Ron against him, but then again, she wouldn’t do that. She’s a good person. “I wish…never mind.”

“What?”

“Just that I could have made her happy. That she could have made me happy.”

After that, Harry eats at least one night a week at Ron and Hermione’s.

It takes a while for Harry to shake off his intense feelings of disappointment at having failed as a husband and ‘normal person,’ and to push down the guilt of breaking Ginny’s heart, although she looked pretty damn content in Dean Thomas’ bed the last time he saw her. Harry wonders if he and Ginny will ever be able to face one another again.

Harry had taken a leave of absence from work, but after a month decides that wallowing in self-pity and self-chastisement is only making things worse. He returns to the office, and other than a few pitying looks from co-workers, things are just as they were.

Harry’s mind often wanders to The Wizard’s Wand. He wonders what it might be like to go there, fully aware that he’s looking to pick up a bloke. He’s done a lot of reading in the time he’s been at the hotel, particularly in The Gay Wizard’s Weekly. Although he balks at some of the articles, he’s very titillated by others. Through that magazine, he’s introduced to a couple of books that he purchases by owl. He reads them voraciously over the next few weeks.

Harry’s not very surprised when divorce papers appear on his desk at work. He spends a long time staring at them, a tall glass of Firewhiskey in his hand, before he signs them with a whispered goodbye to his marriage. He gets very drunk that night and calls in sick the following morning.

“Harry, there’s nothing wrong with being bent,” Hermione tells him at their next dinner together.

“I know that,” Harry says. “It’s just difficult to get used to.”

“Have you thought about asking a bloke out on a date?” Ron asks. He'd responded surprisingly well to Harry's eventual admission of his sexuality. Harry thinks perhaps it was easier for Ron to accept it as the reason Harry and Ginny broke up than that his best friend and his sister were incompatible.

“I don’t know any gay blokes.”

“What about Henderson in accounting?”

“Henderson’s bent?”

“Yup. Also Auror Sanders, and Henry Pinkerton in filing.”

“My hairdresser is gay,” Hermione puts in. “He’s really cute, too.”

It feels weird to have Harry’s best mates trying to fix him up with other men. He thinks of Draco, and how he’d really, really like to kiss him again.

“I might have someone in mind,” he says.

“Really, who?” Hermione leans forward.

“I’ll tell you later.”

Of course, when Harry _wants_ to find Draco Malfoy, he can’t. He tries the pub, asks around work, even goes to Malfoy Manor—the git isn’t around anywhere. Finally, Harry tries The Wizard’s Wand.

The place is as dark as it had been before, and loud –with a heavy bass to the music that thumps along with the blood in Harry’s cock. The girl at the check-in booth remembers him. “You left your robes last time,” she says.

“Keep them for me with these.” Harry hands her the robes he’d been wearing. Underneath he’s worn blue jeans and a white, button-down shirt. As he enters the main room, his eyes roam over it, searching for the familiar white-blond head.

“Hi there, handsome,” someone says, and Harry turns to find a reasonably good-looking bloke standing beside him. “Here for some fun, or just for a drink?”

“A drink for now,” Harry says, wondering what exactly the “fun” entails, although he can sort of guess.

“I’ll buy you one.”

Harry follows the guy to the bar, a little flustered at having somehow encouraged this stranger’s attentions.

“Listen, I can pay for that,” Harry says.

“Nonsense. You’re new here; I’m just being friendly. Name’s Chad.”

“Hi, Chad. Harry.” Harry shakes hands. “I’m really here looking for a friend of mine, Draco Malfoy. Do you know him?” Harry’s eyes scan the room again.

Chad hands Harry a Firewhiskey. “Sure. He’s been in the papers enough, especially lately with that potion. It’s a real boon for us gays—that we can have children together if we choose to.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods and sips at his drink. Chad’s eyes move over Harry in a way that makes Harry uncomfortable. It’s hot in the club, and Harry rolls his sleeves up to the elbow.

“Nice biceps,” Chad says, reaching over to squeeze Harry’s arm. “Do you work out?”

“Some,” Harry says. He continues to drink, and Chad talks about nothing in particular. Draco isn't showing up, and Harry begins to think about leaving.

"Let me buy you another," Chad says, and has a glass in Harry's hand before Harry can protest.

With a sigh, Harry drinks, eyes still running over the club for a familiar blond head.

Ten minutes later, Harry decides it's time to go. He takes a last gulp of his drink and gets up, stumbling back onto the bar stool behind him, legs suddenly weak. What is wrong with him? He hasn't had that much to drink!

Chad steps close.

“You’re just my type, Harry.” His breath is hot in Harry’s ear, and Harry shivers.

“I’m…I’m not here for a pick-up,” Harry says, and why do his words sound so slurred? He looks at the half-full glass of Firewhiskey on the bar.

“Hey, you don’t look so good. Let’s get you somewhere you can lie down,” Chad says, half lifting Harry from the stool. Harry tries to protest, but nothing comes out like he wants it to. His mouth doesn’t seem to form the words he needs.

Chad guides Harry around tables and past blokes snogging and groping, until they reach a back hallway. Harry tries to pull away, but he’s weak as a kitten.

“Ch-chad,” he slurs, trying to focus on what’s going on around him. There’s a man at a door. Chad hands him something, and the man opens the door for them so that Chad can half-drag Harry in.

Harry’s wand is in his back pocket, but his arm won’t bend correctly so he can reach it. Summoning all the magic he can, Harry halts in the doorway, breaking Chad’s hold on him. Harry winds up on his arse on the floor, but Chad loses his grip.

“Leave me alone!” Harry says loudly, his temporary surge of magic giving him his voice back.

“Hey, now, I’m just trying to help you,” Chad says. “There’s a nice place to lie down in here, isn’t that right, Mac?” Chad looks to the man at the door.

“Yeah, a real nice bed. Real cozy.” Mac has a piercing through his nose and looks a little like a bull.

“Come on, Harry, let me get you up.” Chad pulls at Harry’s arm, and Harry wedges his foot against the wall, pulling back.

“What’s going on here?”

Is Harry imagining that snooty voice just because he wants Draco to be there more than anything?

He leans back and looks upward, eyes meeting two greyish-silver ones.

“Draco—“ Harry breathes. “Thank fuck.”

Draco leans down and curls his hands under Harry’s armpits, lifting him to his feet. When he stumbles, Draco turns a cold, steely gaze to Chad.

“What did you give him?”

“What? Just bought him a drink, Draco. No law against that.”

Draco sniffs Harry’s breath.

“You slipped him something.”

“I didn’t! He just got sick, and I was showing him to the cot in the back.”

“I’ll just bet you were.”

Harry misses the next few sentences, as he’s concentrating more on staying upright than listening. Draco’s arm slips around Harry’s waist, and Harry gratefully leans into him.

“Come on, Harry, you’re coming with me,” Draco says, moving through the club with Harry attached to his side.

“M’robes,” Harry mumbles, and Draco stops at the front booth to retrieve them, along with his own.

A few minutes later they Disapparate, and Harry finds himself in the parlour of Malfoy Manor. Draco sits Harry on the sofa and gets him a drink of water.

"Drink this."

Harry obeys, the cool water feeling wonderful as it runs down his parched throat.

“Where have you been?” Harry asks, beginning to feel a bit better, although still shaky.

“What do you mean?” Draco asks. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You’re always around except when I really want to see you.”

“Why were you looking for me?” Draco asks, taking the empty glass and setting it on the table.

“Wanted to ask you out,” Harry pouts, leaning back.

“What?”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest. “You must have heard about my divorce.”

“Yes, and congratulations for coming to terms with your sexuality,” Draco says.

“Thanks.” Harry grins stupidly. His eyes focus a bit and run over Draco. He looks sexy-as-hell in a tight, black T-shirt and black denims.

“So…” Harry says, a grin playing about his mouth that he knows is pretty goofy, but he can't help it, “will you? Go out with me?”

Draco stares. “Are you asking me this because I’m the only bloke you have any experience with? And by the way, you can’t just walk into a club like that and accept a drink from a stranger. You were five minutes away from being raped.”

Harry leans forward, face close to Draco’s. Draco doesn’t back away. “But you saved me. My hero.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Draco says.

“No. I am not asking you out because—whatever you said. I’m asking you because I’m attracted to you, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about you.”

Draco stands up, and Harry has to lean his neck back to look at him.

“All right, Harry. We will try going out—when you’re normal again.” He helps Harry up. “For now, I’m Flooing you home so you can detoxify.”

Harry can feel his lower lip moving downward in another pout, but he accepts Draco’s arm and gives him the address.

Once in his hotel room, Harry collapses onto the bed.

“You’re living in a hotel?” Draco looks around. “Nice enough, but still. You should have your own place by now.”

“I’ve been adjusting,” Harry says, not opening his eyes. He can feel Draco removing Harry’s shoes and socks. He flexes his toes. “Feel free to keep going and get me completely naked.”

“My,” Draco chuckles, “what a horny little bugger you are.”

“Not little,” Harry says.

“No, not at all. I believe we’ve established that already—my jaw ached for an hour after sucking you.”

“I should’ve fucked you in that bathroom stall,” Harry says, still not opening his eyes.

“I knew you wouldn’t; that was just to prove a point.” Draco pulls off Harry’s denims. “There. That’s good enough. Now, sleep it off, and we can have our date this Saturday. I’ll owl you.”

And then Draco’s gone, and Harry can’t keep from falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When he awakens, it’s far into the next day, and Harry feels like something someone’s fished from the bottom of a trash bin.

He showers and heads for work, marveling all the while at his stupidity. What if Draco had not appeared at The Wizard’s Wand to save him? Harry’s first time would have been horrific. He shudders every time he thinks about it. His body trembles in a different way when he remembers Draco’s hands on him, removing Harry’s clothing in his hotel room.

The owl comes just as Harry’s getting ready to head back to the hotel.

_Harry,_

_I’ll meet you at the pub on Saturday, if you still want that date._

_DM_

Harry shoves the paper into his pocket, gives the eagle owl a treat, and leaves the office.

That night, while Harry eats his dinner at the diner down the street from his hotel, he looks over the newspaper for flats for rent.

On Wednesday, Harry meets up with a realtor and looks at each of the twelve flats he’s circled, eager to make a choice.

Harry settles on a small one over a bakery with the constant smell of baking bread coming up through the vents giving the place a homey feel. He can actually imagine living there and being happy. The following day, he moves in. There isn’t much to move, really. Just his clothes and books and a couple of boxes of nostalgic things from Hogwarts. Everything else hadn’t mattered to him, so he’d left it with Ginny.

He resolves to go shopping as soon as possible and try to make the place his own.

On Saturday, Harry showers and spends a good deal of time getting ready for his date with Malfoy. It’s silly the way his stomach jumps in anticipation—he hasn’t felt this way in…well, forever--maybe since he and Cho used to cast glances at one another back at school. Harry had never been nervous with Ginny because she was—well, _Ginny_. Comfortable. Tried and true. That was probably part of the problem.

The other part of the problem hits home as Harry walks into the pub and lays eyes on Draco. Ginny isn’t a man, and Draco is, and Harry really _really_ wants Draco. He can’t take his eyes off him as he makes his way to the booth and sits down beside him. Draco raises a brow.

“It might be a bit difficult to talk this way,” Draco says, glancing across the booth to where he’d obviously thought Harry would sit.

“Maybe,” Harry answers, “but it makes it easier to do this.” He leans in and kisses Draco, lips skimming over Draco’s mouth before pressing in for a better taste.

Draco lets out a small, happy sigh. “I thought perhaps, in your right mind, you might not want this anymore.”

“I was in my right mind when I went to the club looking for you, dummy.”

“Malfoys aren’t dumb,” Draco says into Harry’s mouth. When their tongues touch, Harry’s cock swells in his trousers and his heart hammers in his chest.

“That guy I always see you with…stupid looking git,” Harry murmurs against Draco’s lips.

Draco laughs. “Do you mean Dolphus?” He kisses the corner of Harry’s mouth.

“Whatever. You have something serious going with him?” Harry sincerely hopes not.

“Hardly.”

“That’s good.” Harry kisses Draco again.

“Can we skip the drinks and go to mine?” Harry asks hoarsely when Draco nips at Harry’s lower lip and runs his hand over the bulge in Harry’s trousers. “Please?”

“Your hotel?”

“My flat. Just moved in--it’s small, but it’s mine.”

Draco pulls away, looking suddenly unsure. “You really want to start something between us? Because you don’t have to, Harry.”

Harry reaches up to push back a lock of blond hair from Draco's eyes.

“What would you say if I told you it’s all I want, and I've never been more sure of anything in my life?”

Draco seems to consider this before a slow smile spreads over his face.

“I’d say that’s pretty brilliant.”

Harry nods, suddenly grinning like a lunatic.

“Drinks, then?”

Draco nods, and they leave together.

 

END

 

 

 


End file.
